According to some, it is only truly possible to understand literature when it is translated into a familiar language by contemporary authors familiar with one’s local culture. While others argue that regardless of whether...Read More
We drifted toward the dance floor in ones and twos. We found each other—brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, in-laws and cousins—in the midst of all the other happy people gathered for the wedding of Erin and James. We...Read More
Something inside the copy of Alexander of Macedon, A History interrupted the clean stack of bound leaves of the nearly new book. It still retained a remnant aroma of fresh print against a matte paper finish. The only indication...Read More
I unwittingly began life in the early days of September 1949, my parents subsequently celebrating my birth on May 8, 1950, some nine months later. Definitely, my mother’s pride and joy, I cannot recall much to be unhappy about...Read More
I had never been late for one of my own concerts before. But as my husband, Dan, and I followed one unmarked country road after another through Maury County, Tennessee, thirty-one miles south of Nashville, I began to fear we...Read More
My father kidnapped me when I was 10 years old, seven years after my parents divorced. He bought a second-hand, 1931, A Model Ford and decided to test-drive it over the 366 miles from Jacksonville, where he lived, to Brown Sub...Read More
Steel-legged chairs fill the cramped meeting room. The focus is on the shiny dispenser at the back. Styrofoam cups are filled and refilled one last time with hot black brew. At least five of the nine foremen are smoking, so...Read More
The Men in the Crummy probably wouldn’t have agreed with Noam Chomsky, though for reasons Noam might have trouble appreciating. I think about them whenever I read one of Noam’s essays about mankind destroying the planet, how...Read More
An unseasonably warm New Year’s Day, 1972. I regret wearing my flannel plaid shirt with my plastic imitation-leather jacket over top. Michael, too, is excessively dressed for a walk through the woods. Chester County,...Read More
Rain water spewed from the tires of the eighteen wheelers. Flashing orange signs alternated between “Hands on Wheel” and “Eyes on Road.” The southbound lanes of I-65 slowed to a crawl, the result of a mini-van hydroplaning...Read More
The first time I ever held a girl in my arms was at Jimmy Walker’s fifteenth birthday party. The song was Santana’s “Samba Pa Ti,” from Abraxes (side two, track three), and the girl was Margaret Hagerty, who had transferred that...Read More
This piece of writing started out as a story, at least that’s the way I initially thought about it. The story would be about three people – a couple and a widow – who share a table in an independent living...Read More
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