Lately I’ve been thinking about gifts. Not just the gifts we wrap in paper and give to people who don’t need them. But all the gifts we are given that make life such a pleasure and enable us to give back in some way to the world.

It was a quick stop at the market at 5 p.m. — yes, the worst time of day to shop — to pick up a few essentials: Cream for coffee, eggs for breakfast and Advil for my splitting headache.

At Christmas, we want to give our loved ones the gift of their dreams, the best gift that money can buy. Unless we’re broke.

Where do random thoughts come from? What makes them pop into mind for no apparent reason? And why can I recite a poem I learned long ago, but cannot for the life of me recall where I left my phone?

EDITOR'S NOTE: Sharon Randall is on vacation. The following column is from 2004. 

Years ago, when I met Sam and his brother Joe, I had no idea what lay ahead. Do we ever know where life will lead us?

Thanksgiving is not just about turkey and pumpkin pie. Not that those things don’t matter.

Editors note: The following column is from 2015.

If you could be anything for Halloween, what would you be?

People tell me all sorts of stuff. I’m not sure why. My kids used to swear I wore a sign on my back that said, “Confess.”

My granddaughter Eleanor is 7 years old, full of life and ready to rule the world. If you don’t believe me, ask her brothers.

What do you do when it seems there’s nothing you can do? I recently spent 10 days visiting family in the small Southern town where I grew up.

Every woman, at least once in her life, ought to be Queen for a Day. My sister Bobbie waited 80 years for her turn.