God had given him one-half of His Own Right Eye.
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[I like to pretend I'm writing my memoirs, all of them at the same time, and so this is an excerpt from my second memoir, entitled The Deer in the Road. Feel free to edit, as you go along. Just don't let Amanda know.] On the outside looking in, I had a tragic childhood, I know, I’ve read that…but that’s only the way the story goes. It has a whole different feel, when it's told. The truth is I had a very conventional upbringing, for the most part, and it included a lot of church. I was brought up by a great uncle, who was also...
This raises an interesting question within my Articles of Faith [...]
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There are several things that I'm simply not good at. Saying No, being right up there near the top. But, I also have other, more lasting, character flaws, that I'm afraid err on the side of my being "too good at." It's true. But, no worries, I'm not perfect. For instance, I have a cowlick. No, what I'm referring to is my "curse." I have one. (I probably have more than one, but I have one that is simply prevalent, at all costs, regardless of any personal demographic). I never forget an injustice. Ever. As a matter of awkward fact, I could go for years without seeing...
The lure of the maraschino cherry, and other things I learned this weekend.
Here's what my weekend was like. (Besides, busy). Because busy needs a body. Friday started early, for me. I headed to Jackson to visit with my dear, sweet friend Lora. She's staying for a week at this resort and spa known as the University Medical Center. It's all on account of her cancer diet (her joke, by the way). I stayed there for a good, long time, sharing stories with her about faith, the future, etc. She had quite a busy day: former students, new acquaintances (everyone knows and loves Lora), and pleasant doctors all stopping by to offer well-wishes, and to...
I'm addicted to crack (machines).
There's an epidemic in Starkville. I know because I'm very attuned to these things. Like any hypochondriac. It's crack (machines). I speak from experience. (And I'm pretty sure it's not an epidemic of One, but if it is, that's ok, because the army is an Army of One, and I know for a fact that there's more than one person in the army. I'm stepping forward to speak today because I'm no longer afraid to confess that I'm addicted. Perhaps, I can speak as One for us All. Perhaps, my story will help others). I could hardly write that last sentence without giggling...at least,...
That time I almost met Harper Lee.
I take great pride in the Lee last name. According to legend, and also my father who, among his many world travels, visited the "Lee place" in Ireland, etc. I think, from what I can gather, that it was hardly more than a couple of sticks stuck upright in a slab of mortar. I mean, that's been centuries back; the only palpable evidence was that of the family crest, but don't ask me what's on that thing. I couldn't tell you. What I do know is that there were only ever two Lee brothers who set out for the New World. Both...
Ah, Wilderness! Ah, Bottle Rockets!
I was never the best with fireworks. Which I find odd, in retrospect, because I had nearly flawless hand-eye coordination. Reflexes that would make a hummingbird jealous. I played tennis, and well. But, somehow this quick-speed ability failed me at fireworks. I learned the hard way, too. For some reason, as children, when the Hot Holidays arrived, so called because we were allowed fireworks as part of the celebration - and these included Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas which drained into New Year's, Valentine's Day, the Fourth; basically, we begged for fireworks on every holiday - and when we got them, oh how we eagerly hoarded...
Good in the kitchen and with chicken snakes.
For twelve days I've been a vegetarian. Mostly. Erin said what I really am (she's an authentic, bona fide vegetarian) was a pescatarian. Which sounds similar to a Christian denomination. But, mainly, it means I am 90% real vegetarian, and 10% fake-out: I allow myself fish, eggs, dairy, etc. I have a great need for smoked salmon, on occasion. I'm not trying to drag anyone along with me on this dietary sojourn (although twelve days is a little less than temporary), but as I cook all the meals in the house, Amanda might not have much of a choice. Well, except where the...
The Dollar Bill Incentive, Or, Being Good For Nothing.
I was always an "A" student. I had a memory like an elephant. I never needed a curfew, and I went to church almost more than I went home. Yet, I was terribly, awkwardly naive. A bookworm straight out of the solid core of a ripe apple, I didn't read people as well as words, not until I was much older - and oh how I wish you could shut people up the way you do a book, one flick of your wrist and back they go on the shelf. But me, no, I never questioned authority, and let me tell you that came to backfire...
Persistence has no pesticide.
It all started with the handmade oatmeal soap my sister-in-law gave me, in the guise of a present. I must say, wrapped as it was in that beautiful red gift paper, it was quite a thoughtful-looking Christmas present. That’s the allure of wrapping paper, though, isn’t it? I learned this early on: people will take anything on this earth if you just wrap it pretty enough. It can be a thoughtless happy, a re-gift (as American as the NRA), a genuine present, anything. Many is the household item, kitchen utensil, family portrait, that I, as a child, took and re-wrapped and gave to Nana...
The Parable of the Good Alcoholic.
I figure there are two ways to burn a bridge: whiskey, and everything else. I admit it: There's something beautiful in a martini glass; something so achingly elegant in the way a champagne flute plays its score. And I know it must be in my blood because I wasn't brought up to drink, it was never glorified, and certainly not encouraged, not in a Baptist household. (At least the Jews in my family drank wine, but I didn't know them very well, and they always seemed to be committing suicide or losing a few children in Oklahoma or some such dramatic thing...
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