Appalachian folk. We’re all about long vowels, pass the chicken and praise the Lord. Until we move to the city. Then it’s a little more staccato, foie gras and well I use to be a Baptist. Vowels were never a friend to me in the slow lazy way they are to some people. My primary
Monthly Archives: December 2005
It’s huntin season in the mountains and my brother is going in for the kill. He sent me a Christmas card. A photo of him and a big horned deer, in mid field-dress. Captioned with the seasonal greeting: ‘Ohio Bow Kill. 2005.’ I blame Pa. Pa’s a squirrel man. Least he used to be. “Back
The cousins are a mess. Least thats what my Aunt says. One keeps walking around the house saying ‘breasteseses’ and knocking people out. She’s a fighter and you better believe it. She use to have this really guttural voice, then she got her ears unstopped. People think shes softened up because now she sounds like
I walked those hills for years back in the forties….when I was a boy. Comin’ home from town in the early morning. Up on the mountain, its dark. And its cold. Some nights I couldn’t see to put one foot in front of the other….had to feel my way up and over. Head of Grapevine
“The time to begin writing an article is when you have finished it to your satisfaction. By that time you begin to clearly and logically perceive what it is that you really want to say.” Mark Twain
Spangles, bangles and sparkles. All kinds of gold. The desk-ridden jammed into their a-little-something-leather and alotta-something-gauche. Offices begin to spill into the streets at lunch time. To make merry and drink sherry (and whatever else the free bar has to offer) until the wee morning hours. I left my own a bit later. Sometime after
I’ll dream in columns and construction law this week. I’ll walk through European markets full of goulash and gingerbread men. I’ll spend five hours at Starbucks drinking green tea and envying sausage and bean sandwiches, and six hours at the gym. I’ll run for the train, get all sweaty and not stop to buy a
I use to spend my summers in the John Rylands Library writing (about something else) or networking with friends from Casablanca and Russia (get in good, spend a holiday abroad). Some days I’d go to the beach. Others I’d just end up at O’Neills with one of those designer drinks that taste like fermented Kool-Aid
“Finishing a book is just like you took a child out in the back yard and shot it.” Truman Capote
You’ll go under if you’re not careful. No one will care that you’ve fallen beneath the train, as long as they’re all sardined packed and on their way home. They’ll write about you in the papers the next day, and wonder how you got down there. They’ll call it suicide. A yobbing. Maybe just too
“I am always drawn back to places where I have lived, the houses and their neighborhoods.” Truman Capote Breakfast at Tiffanys
