I buried probably, like, a million birds as a child.
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I don't know of a southern household that doesn't own a pair of binoculars or have a jar of Blue Plate mayonnaise in the refrigerator. So, this is going to be a disappointing blog, in part, because my house has neither. Ok, well maybe a thimbleful is left of the mayonnaise. Ms. Frankie, the sweetest neighbor I had while growing up, God love her, thought it was because people really liked to look at the birds, that's why they all had binoculars...and that anything other than Blue Plate was sacrilege. She had a pair, herself, but they sat on the mantle after her husband died and...
Rasputin and the Fateful Finger Day
I: Confession I don't have many great qualities, I'd imagine (for instance, I find it increasingly difficult to even get a date, so I'm tempted to say that I must be lacking some crucial quality - unfortunately, it's a temptation I never give into. I know better). What I do have, and consider a good thing to have, is a large, uncontrollably malleable heart. Even if it's quite a fault of mine to have it, a liability. It's still not the worst thing to have. Then, again, I'm also ignorant about a great many things, and most often, after the initial shock of owning so much pathos, I tend to...
Keeping up with the Jeffersons.
You know how the song goes. I'll just put a verse of it here: Fish don't fry in the kitchen; Beans don't burn on the grill. Took a whole lotta tryin', Just to get up that hill. [...] Finally got a piece of the pie, hi, hi, hi, hiyah, uh, hi. Something like that. My memory may fail me, but I love the song. And, like the Jeffersons, I've moved on up, got my pie (no meringue because that's like pudding, and I hate pudding). My piece of the pie? I've created a website. I have. I'm just not entirely sure how. I know, I know, I can hardly...
The Mercy Blog 2: Mean Man and Me
I noticed without much fanfare or to-do, this morning, that our neighbor had a rental truck slap up against his front door. Coming down the road, from class, I saw the bed, the table, and various other accoutrement loaded inside. I took this to mean he was moving. I was...I must say...ok with that. He wasn't the easiest man to like. An attempt had been made, earlier in the year, to befriend him, mainly because he had the most adorable roommate: a Bassest hound. And one afternoon, I was in the backyard with Max, the dog I live with. He's a large white German Shepherd,...
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