“Are those…baked beans…on my kitchen ceiling, Grandmother?” It was my mom’s perturbed voice. You could also tell when she was perturbed by how she called somebody. Granny Grace—my great grandmother—was always just Granny, or maybe occasionally Gracie, but ‘Grandmother’ was the moniker mom used when Gracie did something vexing. Come to think of it, Gracie … Continue reading Family Story: Baked Beans on the Ceiling
Family
A Story about Humor: The Best Kind of Barometer (for Anything That Matters)
Is there really any better yardstick than humor for measuring, I don’t know, intelligence? Depth of character? General amiability in a person? I think not. I can recall several occasions where I forgot about this important metric when I was making an important decision that would palpably affect my life, and lived to regret it. … Continue reading A Story about Humor: The Best Kind of Barometer (for Anything That Matters)
Family Story: When Doing Nothing Really Is Something
Yesterday afternoon I video chatted with my twentysomething for a bit as we routinely do, if not every day, at least several days every week. Thank the universe (and the engineers) for the technology that allows us to do this. He was sitting at his desk at home in his bedroom, with a soft blanket … Continue reading Family Story: When Doing Nothing Really Is Something
Travel Story: Four Days in Charleston
Really, it was four days in nearby Mt. Pleasant, SC, with a single worthwhile diversion into downtown Charleston. This was the trip we planned last summer, to see my ex-sister-in-law-but-still-my-sister and her sweet Waco-the-Lab. But last year Hurricane Irma had other plans, thus derailing ours. Weather. It’s why we chose July this time around instead … Continue reading Travel Story: Four Days in Charleston
Travel Story: One Night in Charlotte
The plans to meet us in Charlotte unfolded exactly the way all the twenty-something’s plans do, fraught with angst, vacillating wildly between Yes-I’m-Coming and No-I-Can’t, and with no small measure of hand wringing and car polishing, I am guessing. Because when your mom-who-lives-a-thousand-miles-away comes within spitting distance of where you are right now, it’s obviously … Continue reading Travel Story: One Night in Charlotte
Travel Story: Way Down South Part IV
The suitcases have come out of the closet, and Scout-the-Labish knows something’s up. This time last year our planned vacation travel was still several months off. But hurricanes have derailed us twice now. First time was only a glancing blow, but there was torrential rain, the kind that falls sideways in sheets. At one point … Continue reading Travel Story: Way Down South Part IV
Family Story: It’s in the DNA
‘We don’t hide crazy,’ I said. ‘We put it on the porch and let it entertain the neighbors.’—Nick Wilgus Surely you’ve seen some iteration of that quote in the context of how ‘crazy’ is handled way down South. The gist is, any self-respecting Southern family is not ashamed of the crazy aunt or the second … Continue reading Family Story: It’s in the DNA
Dog Story: The Quiet Intelligence of a Little Lab-ish
You're getting too big for your britches. —Mom And so it goes with Scout-the-Lab-ish, who snapped at David-the-Chef a few nights ago, after David got up in the middle of the night and returned to bed and found a dog where there had been a chef-sized space only moments earlier. David attempted to gently scooch … Continue reading Dog Story: The Quiet Intelligence of a Little Lab-ish
Mom Is Human: a Memphis Memory
/ˌSHto͝orm o͝on(d) ˈdraNG/ noun – turbulent emotion or stress. In the eastern suburbs of Memphis, Tennessee, you can tell a tornado’s coming—or at the very least a horrific storm—long before the civil defense sirens sound. The wind picks up red soil from rice farmers’ fields over in West Memphis, Arkansas, near the western shores of … Continue reading Mom Is Human: a Memphis Memory
Signs of Life: Sunday Photo Essay
The dark finish on the steps and handrails was elegant and dressy once upon a time, you can tell. But over weeks and months, then years and decades, it collected scuffmarks and even a few deep gouges, call it a patina if you wish, from the traffic in the house: you can see it clearly … Continue reading Signs of Life: Sunday Photo Essay
