Mardi Gras With ‘Aunt Sally’ and ‘Cousin Jack’

Punctual, the silver compact hatchback rolls along the departures lane at the U.S. Airways terminal at the New Orleans airport, Aunt Sally at the wheel. This will be my introduction to the New Jersey native who migrated to this Mississippi delta city to meet men during World War II. No blood relation to me, she [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Memoir Musings|Comments Off on Mardi Gras With ‘Aunt Sally’ and ‘Cousin Jack’

Magic and Wonder

Sifting through the card basket, I take one last peak at Christmas. A card from Alan and Janet reminds me that ‘the magic of the season is all around.’ Kathie’s greeting, ‘May your holidays be wrapped in wonder and love,’ makes me feel almost tingly again. Today I am still savoring one of those ‘special [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Memoir Musings|Comments Off on Magic and Wonder

Just Call Me ‘Bud’

It began three months ago when I cancelled my 10-dollar monthly auto-payment to Planet Fitness and matriculated to the Aerobic Center in Greensburg to take advantage of my Silver Sneakers fitness benefits. “Come into my office, Bud, and I’ll get the questionnaire filled out for you.” We breeze through all the questions, and I give [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Memoir Musings|Comments Off on Just Call Me ‘Bud’

Willow Street Days

The milky gray framed Victorian, which our former Bailey Avenue neighbor, Edwin [Eddie] Johnson, had renovated and converted into a vertical duplex, drew our little family one block east and two long blocks south up the hill to the corner of Willow and Grant Streets. The crooked sycamores and canvas awnings that framed the open, [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Memoir Musings|Comments Off on Willow Street Days

Television Kid

It’s four o’clock on a weekday afternoon circa 1951, and there I am on the living room floor, short pants and chubby legs, singing “The Tennessee Waltz” with Kate Smith. My only audience, but none more devoted, is my mom who is busy in the kitchen preparing today’s supper so that we can eat at [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Memoir Musings|Comments Off on Television Kid

My Shoes

My shoes are sturdy and black, ball-peen crinkled, square-toed with brick-red stitching. A seam atop the instep fashionable like lady stockings of the swing band era, Buckled, not laced, for slip-on ease Adorned and secure in my shoes.   Garage kept at first, hard to break in My shoes were Sunday church shoes, Going to [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Memoir Musings|Comments Off on My Shoes

The Rifleman

I remember the staccato pumping action of the rifle, pkoo-pkoo-pkoo-pkoo-pkoo-pkoo-pkoo-pkoo-pkoo, at the beginning, followed by the brassy baritones and French horns, strings joining in to conclude the chorus, to proclaim the appearance of . . . The Rifleman. The town of North Fork is cradled in rugged hands and safe from the bitter taste of [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:22+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Personal Essays|Comments Off on The Rifleman

Right Place, Right Time

“I knew,” I said . . . “there was something about you.” Then I leaked tears, overcome by the words that had just tumbled out of the mouth of a waitress. Georgette had served me on my last visit to Denny’s a few weeks ago and impressed me as one more attentive and personable employee [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:23+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Personal Essays|Comments Off on Right Place, Right Time

Blood Sport

I have no idea where the ball has landed when I power it, off balance, with my whole body out of control. I realize that I am in an irreversible backwards free fall. It feels as though I have fallen off a two-story building to the hard ground below. Lying on my back on the [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:23+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Personal Essays|Comments Off on Blood Sport

That Song Again

That a song can have such power over me must be one of the sweet mysteries in life. It happens once again when I hear the intro to Diane Schuur’s jazz vocal, “Louisiana Sunday Afternoon” pouring like a mint julep out of the Sirius XM radio channel on the TV in my sitting room. A [...]

By | 2017-05-17T15:51:41+00:00 April 11th, 2017|Personal Essays|Comments Off on That Song Again