Category Archives: Stories – From Life & Elsewhere

Arguing With God: My 9-11 Story

Arguing With God: My 9-11 Story

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“No,” I said. “No thank you.”

That’s how it started.

I said no to Chris Olson-Vickers. Chris was a mild-mannered social worker in Richmond, Virginia. She was also a Quaker, who in August of 2001 had agreed, perhaps rashly, to host an impecunious co-religionist  in need of shelter during the mid-Atlantic Quakers’ regional assembly, called Baltimore Yearly Meeting.

That impecunious co-religionist was me. Laid off and low on cash, I was too strapped to stay on-campus nearby, where our sessions were underway. I was packing lunches and avoiding the cafeteria. 

sgt-abe-as-god-copy

 

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Wood Thrush: The Return of the Magic Flute

A Wood Thrush & The Magic Flute

(Nope, not talking about the Mozart Opera.)

Wood-thrush
Sketch of a wood thrush, singing.

Heard a wood thrush yesterday, or maybe several. Haven’t heard one in at least two years.

Wasn’t expecting or looking for it; which is the best way to encounter them.  In fact, such a visitation was the last thing on my mind.

It happened at a trailer park in rural Robeson County, NC.  Among Carolina’s one hundred counties, Robeson is the poorest and the most crime-ridden. I don’t go there for fun, or for nature’s wonders, but to see people who are important to me.

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Garrison Keillor & Me: A Startling Revelation

Revelation & Memory: Garrison Keillor

Saw Garrison Keillor last night. Not his show; just him, solo except for a short set with a local guitarist.

He was very much himself: baggy suit, long red tie, long red socks, red tennis shoes.

Keillor-shoes

He told stories and sang songs for two hours straight. The Durham Performing Arts Center was pretty well filled, mostly with those of or near his age.

He and I are in the same generation, born only months apart.  That relates to my big revelation about him, which will be disclosed here presently, along with a big recollection . . .

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Three Homelands: A Revelation In Ireland

Three Homelands: A Revelation In Ireland

In December 2010, on a bright but cold afternoon, I took a serious blow to the ego, and what’s left of my cultural pride. It probably did me good, but I’m still rubbing the sore spot: it’s like a bruise that just won’t heal.  It started out fine, when I got off a bus not far from Waterford, Ireland, just in time for an interview.

Dog-Days-Logo-CF-Dog-Days-box

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