In the Family of Storytellers


They say that in a family of storytellers no one ever dies.

Perhaps they are right.

They also say silence is the sound of money.

I know they are right about that.

Nobody spoke your name for years.

In every war, greedy men make great piles of money.

The rich get richer

The poor get poorer

Janis Joplin had it right, that thing she said about freedom.

Dad. Dragon Mt. (1)

 Fifty years have passed since your passing.

We lost a lifetime with you.

Freedom is just another word for nothing else to lose

What else was there?


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A Closeted Hippie’s Take on Memorial Day


In spite of growing up on the tailwind of the Hippie-era, I’m a traditionalist at heart. I like the Book of Common Prayer, the Our Father, Rosary beads, and the way Episcopalians always say, “And also with you”.  I love the formality of a processional, a church choir that still wears choir robes, and the high church sound of an organ well-played. The whole world looks more magical to me through the lens of stained glass windows, even those portraying the most profound of all betrayals.

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The CDC & the Same Old Plot


I was listening to NPR this morning as I do a lot of mornings. I can barely tolerate those cutsie wake-up morning shows on the radio. Everyone is so dang cheery and cheesy. And loud. Have you noticed that? You’d think a morning radio host would be less like a drill sergeant and more like a dear granny, greeting their audiences with a gentle word instead of yanking them into reality.

NPR’s hosts aren’t usually loud, albeit in an effort to appeal to a younger audience some of their morning music can be quite grating. The exception being during pledge week and then Public Broadcasting hosts can be like parrots repeating the same phrase, usually the station’s phone number. I’d rather listen to randomly placed ads from Home Depot on a regular basis than to be subjected to the mindless drone of pledge week. (I’m a sustaining member by the way, so it’s not the giving I have trouble with – it’s the begging).

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About that Onion/Click Hole Meme



Honey, I love a bit of satire as much as the next person. I’ve even been known to employ it a time or two myself. But I realized a few years back that the kind of satire I was used to enjoying – that employed by wisecracking Southerners like Flannery O’Connor, Eudora Welty, Willie Morris, Barry Hannah, Rick Bragg, Roy Blount Jr. – was a far cry different than the kind employed nowadays.

My panties were jerked in a knot some years back when I spoke out about a book that millions found funny – Go the F**k to Sleep – but which I found to be decidedly not funny. As I pointed out in an essay I wrote for CNN, when one has been immersed in a story about child abuse, one is hypersensitive to the ways in which children today are being abused. One of which is the ugly, demeaning ways in which so many children are spoken to on a daily basis. So there was no way I was going to find a book that adapts that same abusive language and cloaks it as “satire” funny. I stand by my original assessment of Mansbach’s book: Not funny. Not in the least bit.

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Quail in My Den


I once came home to find a quail roaming around in my den.


I had no idea how it got in the house.

Nor did I know how it had managed to climb the stairs, open the door to the den and then shut the door behind itself.

It could not have flown into the room. The only windows to the room are covered by screens.

I didn’t know what to do with a quail in the den, so I did what any thinking woman would do – I left it there until Tim came home.  He scooped up the quail and took it back to the grasslands behind the house from whence it likely came.

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