I have dreams sometimes about the dead I know. They are probably not at all unusual. In my dreams the dead are as a live as I remember them. Inside the dream I feel exhilaration. Exhileration that they are their next to me. Inside the dream I feel that their death has been some misunderstanding that has been cleared up so that we can have this wonderful reunion.
A dream I had last night was different. In it I was laughing and talking with my daughter Jill. But the difference here was that I knew she was going to die that summer. As we visited with one and other I felt an immense sadness and sorrow for her. She happily left me and within my dream I found my wife. I told her it was important that we carry on for Jill as though nothing dreadful was going to happen during the coming August. She must have no idea about her impending demise. I seemed fixated on the need to get her college applications in, because if we didn’t, she’d know something was up…then the dream, as they often do, just sank…dissolved..slipped away somewhere hidden inside my brain….
And so George Zimmerman, the CNN-described “white Latino” accused of killing Trayvon Martin, walks and the trial, with it’s uniquely American bitch’s brew of media frenzy, armchair litigation and racial politics is over.
I’ll say up front that I did not follow the trial day in and day out. I’ll also say that, while I think those who feel aggrieved by this verdict are misguided, I commend them for their restraint in peacefully protesting the outcome. Their behavior is by far the most noble thing to come out of this whole tragic, sordid affair.
Continue reading “Zimmerman Walks”
Jacob Marley (Mon Chi Chi…or simply Chi Chi to his friends) is a creature of the night. Now, he gets along very well with the dogs. He is generally not bothered by them and they do not mind the little swipes he takes as they walk by. He really comes a live at night when they are put to bed in their crate. Once they are in bed we leave the baby gate open, so he has the run of the house
Continue reading “Mon Chi Chi Cometh”
The little piece of internet exhibitionism you’re reading aside, I’m a pretty private person. “Offline”, I just don’t like people knowing details like the status of my health or how much I earn. I was raised not to discuss intimate details of my life with anyone but immediate family and perhaps one or two life long, very trusted friends. To do overwise borders on the uncouth. On a site such as Facebook, I converse in a way, and give out no more information than, I would at a social function that included, say, coworkers or people I’d call acquaintances. That only makes sense, because when you post on Facebook or Twitter, you’re not just posting to your brother or wife. You are posting to a coworker, your cousin, your nieghbor and, potentially, your neighbor’s cousin’s sister-in-law, who you friended solely on a mutual admiration of Sheryl Crow.
Continue reading “Private Parts”
4 stars out of 5 on Amazon and Goodreads
Since catching the travel bug early, I’ve always yearned to travel to places far and wide, with one significant exception. Those places I cannot travel to, I read about. Between actual trips and wanderings in the pages of books, I’ve been just about everywhere. The one place I never had any interest in going to was France. I’d probably spent more time reading about travel to Slovenia than to, say, Paris. This all changed a couple years back. Perhaps the trauma of middle school French class had finally worn away. Recently I’ve developed a keen interest in French history, culture, cuisine and geography, accumulating the info needed to perhaps someday travel to that country.
One doesn’t get very far in researching travel to France before running into A Year in Provence by Englishmen Peter Mayle. I’d heard about this book and the hordes it inspired to journey to the South of France with visions of quaint, rustic farmhouses dancing in their skulls. I wondered if Provençal’s have the same love hate relationship with A Year in Provence as Savannahians do with Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil (which, in Savannah, is simply known as The Book). I approached the book with caution because I thought that to have inspired such a swelling of interest in Provence, Mayle must have painted an unrealistically romanticized version of life there.
Continue reading “Book Review – A Year In Provence”
For the past two years, Syrian leader Bashar Assad has engaged in a brutal crackdown against his own citizens. What had started as spontaneous popular demonstrations against the government’s response to drought and for civil rights has morphed into a full blown civil war.
The conflict pits Assad’s Alawite Shi’a (backed by Russian arms), Iran and Hezbollah against a conglomeration of rebels who fight under the banner of the Syrian Free Army and who are funded and supplied by Sunni Arab states and, to a lesser degree, the West. Since the war started, over 90,000 Syrians have died (some as a result of chemical attacks) and millions have been displaced.
Continue reading “No Lesser Evil”