The Train Whistles
Twice, train whistles saved my life. Two instances separated by a hemisphere and nearly a decade. Here is the first. When I was 16 years old, I worked for a fast food chain. That summer, Read more…
Twice, train whistles saved my life. Two instances separated by a hemisphere and nearly a decade. Here is the first. When I was 16 years old, I worked for a fast food chain. That summer, Read more…
I was a basketball star of rural Midwestern proportions in my youth. I was a flash of a big-ish deal in a small-town, no-big-deal way. But I never took a game-winning shot at the buzzer, Read more…
It was after midnight. My two friends and I pulled my dad’s aluminum extension ladder off the garage wall. We walked out of the garage into the dark, hoping we’d waited long enough for the Read more…
As I knelt along Rue Saint-Denis in Paris, a woman short, round and worn, yelled at me in French. She was waving me away. Angrily. I did not understand why. My attention was focused through Read more…
Sometime during the summer of my tenth birthday, I learned how to do laundry. My mother was giving my oldest brother the procedural rundown before he went off to college as a freshman. I stood Read more…
I had a barracks roommate 25 years ago while in the Army, who for amusement broke down our lives into the varied job skills they contained. All the little stuff our days consisted of as Read more…
An outdoor batting cage stood between the Pyeongtaek (평택) train station and a lane where, it was said, the mafia controlled the sex trade. Red light. American soldiers were off limits to the sex workers, Read more…
REO Speedwagon carried us around the skating rink in perpetual left turns. Our own version of a flat NASCAR track in a dim, windowless building that once had been a service station situated along the Read more…
Where are the haters? When will they show themselves? It will hurt, at least at first. But if I am to really shine in my work, I will encounter that unbridled dethusiasm. Is that a Read more…
The most satisfying meal I ever ate was while alone on a bed in a rented room in the speck of a nation called Andorra. I was a hungry 28-year-old backpacker a month or more Read more…
A wooden Louisville Slugger stands in the corner next to my family’s front door. Black electrical tape wraps much of the bat’s handle. And then some. It squeezes tight a hairline that fissured during batting Read more…
There was a sprawling tree of essential importance in the yard of my childhood. It stood in the crook of the northeast elbow of our yard. The grasses of the back and side yards blended Read more…
I was baptized at eight years old. I was old enough to know wrong from right, I was told, and to make that commitment to God of my own grown-up volition. It felt like a Read more…
My parents do not drink. At all. Never did. I had my first drink at age five, maybe six. Whiskey. Neat. Even though my parents did not drink at all. Or was it somehow because Read more…
Anne Lamott talks of being a Sunday school teacher at a failing church. The context for this description seems to be, or at least include, the fact of low prayer turnout. She talked on Rainn Read more…