Welcome to post number 499 – whatever I write and post after this post will be number 500. 500 posts and I still struggle to write everyday. 500 posts, and I don’t think I’ve gotten all that much better at being succinct or interesting or disciplined in my writing. 500 posts and I still can’t…
This Moment and the Next
He was a judge in Louisiana. For me as a reader, that one line comes loaded with assumptions. Absent additional context, I immediately thought white, older, perhaps a good ol boy, perhaps racist or I assume the story will have racial tensions and hints of southern gentility. I asked my friend Stacy to respond to…
True Dreams…
I’ve seen your hand turn saintly on the radio dialI’ve seen the airwaves pull your eyes towards heaven I spent way too much time listening to songs tonight (not that I ever mind listening to music) in search of those lyrics. The only line I could remember (vaguely) was eyes towards heaven. I could hear…
Expectations
This morning I had to consider the possibility that I expect too much from my dog. For the most part, he’s a good boy. In fact, when I hear other people talk about their pooch problems, my guy seems like a very good boy. When we butt heads, it’s usually on our walks. Again, for…
Salvage
Where salvage sits beside prized… I had just re-read Robert Hass’ poem “Cuttings” and vaguely remembered something about it being a collection of lines and poems that didn’t make it into his finished poems – like film on the cutting room floor. Or perhaps it was flowers gathered together to make a bouquet… Or perhaps…
Foreign Correspondent
There was something about the pile at the end of the curb that seemed like something more than the usual spring cleaning trash. It looked haphazard and hurried. Maybe it was the size of the pile: four feet high by about ten feet long and a few feet deep or maybe it was the guitar…
Inscription
I remember the drum line – a vibrant procession that led the guests in to the grand bank turned banquet hall. It was one of those stately Manhattan banks from a forgotten era of grandeur. As we entered, a row of waiters and waitresses greeted us with bellinis and caviar. The floor was marble, the…
Goin’ Down South
Last week, I took a few days off and went down to Clarksdale, MS for their annual Juke Joint Festival. I flew in to Memphis on Thursday, met up with Stacy, got some BBQ, and walked around downtown. We then made our way south to Clarksdale – down highway 61, a fairly desolate stretch of…
Tastes Like Vinegar, or How to be Less of a Malcontent
It’s gray and rainy this morning. Yesterday it was only gray – the rain held off. The dog is stretched across my lap making it difficult to write or reach my coffee. Nick, my cat used to do this as well, but I could sometimes type over him. Last night I was talking with my…
A Time Before
The other day a friend shared one of those Facebook memories that we all get and see. It was a picture of his daughter. She’s away at college now and he found the “memory” to be bittersweet. I sometimes wonder why we keep those mementos around, why we dive into the bittersweet. Old photos that…
Stealing a Moment
Yesterday morning, despite having a three-day weekend, I woke up tired and preoccupied with work. I suddenly felt like I had a few dozen things on the to-do list and was aggravated with myself for letting it get to me first thing in the morning. It didn’t help that the dog was nudging me for…