All posts by Buffy

the publicans


Two old men. A diner near the Tug River Valley. One wears a red face. He calls his friend Plez. Plez: The General’s a pastor now. Red: I reckon? Plez: Yup. Says God spoke to him. Set him on his course. They figure on it. For a while. Plez: But we don’t know. We don’t

pigs not polar bears


Tall Dark & Handsome’s brother just got back from the North Pole. More or less. He spent two weeks in Svalbard dog sledding through white-outs and walking on thin ice. My mother went to Chicago once when she was 17. Barring truckers, that’s about as far as any of my family got until I started

grandmas say the darndest things


I’m on the phone with my grandmother. She’s turning sixty-something this week and I called to tell her how young and fabulous she was. But she knows this already. Conversation then turns to food (because why wouldn’t it) and she starts in about breakfast and lunch and what she’s gonna have for dinner. I tune

where i’m from


Where I’m from I am from country roads, Crisco and my grandfather’s violin. From the shadow on the wall. The smell of wood and rain. Grape crape myrtles, rhododendrons and muddy water. I am from Sunday afternoons and farmers. From Sullie, Virgie and Boo. The storytellers and the hand wavers. The hush and the holler.

i’ll tell it. you write it down.


“I seen my daddy die.” He was a handsome man with handsome eyes. He wore suits and bowler hats and bright red ties. His boy would take after him. But he’d never know it. “A man’s gotta be in bad shape to do that sorta thing.” Darrell said it. “Makes you wonder if he hated

10 things


Ten things I’ve told my mother since moving abroad. 1. No, you can’t send me a gun. Guns are illegal. Nope. Not even a little one. Knives are illegal too. Pepperspray – still illegal. 2. Quit moaning. I haven’t paid less than $6.00 a gallon for gas (It’s now $13.) since I’ve been here. It’s

potholes full of shine


I never made no liquor myself. But I seen my share of stills and always knew who run ’em. When I was a boy I helped hide it all the time for Uncle Poodle. I dug pot holes all over that mountain. Filled ’em with ten gallon jugs of mountain lightening. He didn’t put his

the ambasciatori – but not now


City work means city pay. That’s a good thing. This month I’ve been up to my eyeballs in facials and Decleor. Expensive shoes and tailored trousers. There’s satisfaction in spending cash that’s your own. May 27 is special for me so I’ve been liaising with my jeweler and a personal shopper at Fendi. A cushion

piccies


I’ve been playing this afternoon. With photos and some really cool javascript. I’ll flesh the site out better later…add more of my lifestyle photographs. In the meantime…. Pics by an old Canon A40, a newer Canon Ixus 500, a Nikon D70 & a Sony DCST9. And one from a really old (i.e. cira 1998ish) Nikon

they called it vietnam


Charlie come home in a box. A flag that weren’t ever his on top. Strangers in strange clothes brung it up the hill. Sit it on his momma’s porch. Like it was somethin’ that ought to be sittin’ there, instead of somewhere else. Like they knew. The night before he left, before they come to

a detached victorian and an organ in the attic


“You’d probably call me a communist.” No fur hat. No balalaika. “No. I probably wouldn’t.” A bottle of vodka in the cupboard. Some rye on a shelf. I looked at him. “Not Russian. Communist.” He carried my suitcase upstairs and left in search of duvets. —– I had answered an ad in the ‘Rooms Available’