DO YOU HAVE YOUR BLACK-EYED PEAS SOAKING YET? IF NOT, WHY NOT? LOOK AT THE CALENDAR! Time for my annual re-post of what I consider a couple of the BEST ways to eat your black-eyed peas for New Years’ Day. What? Don’t tell me you didn’t know you really must eat black-eyes on New Year’s […]
DEAR ROSALEE, ABOUT THAT WHOLE FUTURE QUESTION, & USING OR NOT USING, & SOME STUFF MY WRITER-FATHER (WHO USED TO BE A DRUNK) PASSED ON TO ME …
ANGELS UNAWARE, AND THE JAR OF PEANUT BUTTER THAT MAY HAVE SAVED MY LIFE
SOMETIMES THE PEOPLE WHO ARE MOST PRESENT FOR YOU AFTER YOU ARE WIDOWED ARE NOT WHO YOU’D EXPECT. SOMETIMES THEY BEAR UNLIKELY GIFTS. SOMETIMES THEY BRING SOMETHING THEY DIDN’T KNOW THEY WERE BRINGING, WHICH YOU DIDN’T KNOW YOU NEEDED. UNTIL THEY GAVE IT. THEN, YOU KNEW. Note: this post is Part 2, a special edition […]
THE HOLIDAYS, AFTER A SUDDEN DEATH: HOW TO HELP
HE DIED. SUDDENLY. AN ACCIDENT. THREE WEEKS LATER, THE WORST WINTER WEATHER IN THE STATE’S HISTORY BLEW IN. SOMETIMES DISASTERS COLLIDE SOMETIMES FRIENDS HOLD A PLACE FOR US WHEN WE CAN’T DO IT FOR OURSELVES. It is easy, looking back on the aftermath of the catastrophic theft of normalcy that is widowhood, to recall the […]
TRAVELING ON THANKSGIVING: NOTES ON A TRANSITIONAL TIME
WE CAN NO LONGER HAVE WHAT WE HAD. SOMETIMES THE BEST WAY TO REORIENT IS TO QUIT RESISTING DISORIENTATION. MAYBE EVEN EMBRACE IT. FOR NOW. Thanksgiving, it turns out, is a great day on which to travel. The Thanksgiving after I was widowed for the second time, I spent much of Thanksgiving literally in the […]
HOW TO GET GOOD AT ANYTHING. YES, IT’S THAT SIMPLE. THAT HARD.
How do people get good at things? Especially, those people who are astoundingly good at what they do — how on earth do they get that way? No matter who your favorite musicians are (or writers, athletes, actors, artists, cooks), , you can bet they do three things. These are things that anyone, who is good at […]
DOES IT GET EASIER? YES. DO YOU GET OVER IT? NO.
GRIEF’S LOVE-LANGUAGE
That last Thursday in November, I had been at Miller Williams‘ sixth or eighth Survey of Western Poetry class, which I was auditing at the University of Arkansas at Fayetteville.I’d drive over each Thursday — it was about an hour from Eureka Springs — immerse myself in Miller’s world, do any Fayetteville errands that I […]
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