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December 2019 Why Do I Write? - Shakespeare Lied
His calling for an appointment was surprising. I knew who he was; we served on the same board for years. I was sure he knew plenty of lawyers between his business and my location. He said he was on his way to Galveston – “Can I see you? I need a couple of hours of your time.” . READ MORE >> |
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November 2019 Why Do I Write? - Because maybe they’re right
She lied prone in the bed, moving slowly, tossing side to side. Health care professionals of different ilk moved on the perimeter, peeking into the different rooms, even though technically everyone was in the same room; separated by social graces and curtains drawn around each bed.. . READ MORE >> |
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December 2018 Why Do I Write? - "Not that much …""
The James Beard Award in the United States’ food industry has been referenced as the Oscars of the food world. ―The award recognizes chefs, restaurateurs, authors and journalists each year, scheduled around James Beard’s May 5th birthday.‖ For the unfamiliar, James Beard is recognized as the Dean of American Cookery. . READ MORE >> |
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November 2018 Why Do I Write? - Sara Said …
The heat was still, sitting in placed – personified - dominating the landscape, ridding it of traces of some colors, plants, owning it, making it her palette. I too complied, sitting, looking for the number, daring not to do the simple task, open the door and take a step outward, towards the door. The engine was compliant, quietly idling in place. . READ MORE >> |
December 2017 Why Do I Write? - “It bees like that …”
I have never taken a formal course in self-defense. Mine has come by virtue of older boys in my neighborhood throwing punches, slapping, striking at will, challenging you to slow down the blows, “move your feet”, screaming, “don’t be afraid.” . READ MORE >> |
November 2017 Why Do I Write? - One, Two … One, Two …
The setting was no different than other settings seen in living rooms and dens in cities, towns, boroughs, parishes, counties, around the country; grabbing and pulling one or both hands, ushering and propelling the body from one place to another – down the line, to the center of the room, in a circle – issuing demands, “stay on beat”, “like this”, “one, two … one, two”. . READ MORE >> |
December 2016 Why Do I Write? - Of Words, Of Lives
Holidays serve as markers - of family, of friends, of tradition. A period in which time is engrafted, if engrafted is the proper word. Somewhat akin to a tree marking time; irregular overlapping lines forming intricate rings, woven, round and round. Markers are reminders which both invoke and create memories, reassuring us - of lives loss, of births, renewal. . READ MORE >> |
November 2016 Why Do I Write? - Two Visitors
Standing on the street’s edge seemed an appropriate observation post, appreciating Mother Nature’s power. Dirt and grass covered the sunglasses I wore, obscuring facial features, pockmarking in a deforming and discomforting kind-of-way. The gloves I wore were covered with sticker burrs, too complimented by dirt and grass, obscuring the color, clinging to the fabric, making the material appear ridiculously pretentious, as if a new form of material had been created – organic corduroy maybe – nouveau riche perhaps. . READ MORE >> |
December 2015 Why Do I Write? - A disheveled, unpredictable mess
The day foretold nothing out of the ordinary. The sky did not paint an overlay on the edges of the horizon foretelling an anticipated mood change. The moon’s fullness was not expected for another week. The sea gulls circled, not in foreboding manner; forever scavenging, squawking, soaring, but surely not foreboding. The setting was a common one, the third day of trial with enough evidence having had flowed from the mouths of others allowing the court to assess the case’s progress. . READ MORE >> |
October 2015 Why Do I Write? - My ghost… my phantom… my fantôme
This morning (October 21, 2015), I decided to make some buttermilk biscuits prior to beginning work. The previous Friday I had stopped at Phoenicia Speciality Foods in west Houston and purchased a couple of jars of Noyan's preserves - one blackberry, one peach. Noyan is an Armenian producer of preserves, jams and juices. Most of their preserves are produced without preservatives, or artificial colors and flavorings; fruit combined with sugar to create a wonderfully pleasing product.. READ MORE >> |
November 2014 Why Do I Write? - It is not because of the influence of a professor |
October 2014 Why Do I Write? - It is not because of any psychosis
Curtis Zachery wore his hair close; maybe it was because of the bald spot which dominated the top rear portion of his head. His skin color was a consistent chocolate blend. His hands belied his profession; he had the best-kept hands of any painter I had ever known. Zach was known for his complaining. I once heard him get into an argument with a woman who wasn’t having any of his most persistent character-flaw. She attempted to silence him with a mimicking whine, and her cutting words, “You complain more than a mean old woman.” I admit I am paraphrasing her words, but I think you get the point. The insult didn’t bother Zach; he acknowledged her telling point with a smile and then continued his irritating whine. . READ MORE >> |
