Dear Friend, When I was young, one of the high school football players collapsed on the field and under white hot stadium lights, surrounded by hundreds of hushed onlookers, died of unforeseen heart problem. I wish I knew the details; maybe those who remember better than I do can enlighten my own recollection. Now, in […]More
Camellia blossoms and creeping kudzoo. Cotton fields and Alabama Football. Winters brief and warmed by the company of friends, both old and new. Alabama: a place haunted in every corner by its too-near past, yet imbued with just enough crazy hope for a better way. These are musings and stories about our time in the bright, sunny South.
Dear Friend, As a writer – and, therefore, an avid muser – and as a fellow pilgrim living through the Great Pandemic, the New Civil Rights Movement, and my own season of change, I can tell you that I’ve been quiet for the same reasons I should not have been quiet. My mind is weighted. […]More
Before I met your dad, I sketched your name on notebook pages. I didn’t know what I’d name a girl, but I knew I’d name you Izaak. For “laughter,” that everything-is-alright feeling I treasure of my girlhood memories. For the sake of being different. I guess it is the English major in me who needs […]More