“Woe . . . They say that what is right is wrong and what is wrong is right; that black is white and white is black; bitter is sweet and sweet is bitter.”
“As a dog returns to its vomit, so a fool repeats its folly.”
(a “two-edged sword” cuts both ways)… Read the rest
11/5/24
My ballot is a match.
I strike it and
Burn down a joker’s house of cards.
Fight fire with fire and
Forge a Freedom House.
I vote
‘La.… Read the rest
T. has been cutting my hair for nearly 10 years and knows my head like nobody else in Huntsville. She has every curve, trouble spot, bald spot, and protuberance of my ample 7 ¾ hat-sized head down cold.
Even on occasions when she might be unsure of the “way I like it”, she asks me, but she also checks my “dossier” on her phone just to be sure: Thin, but longer on top (my hair grows up like a beehive, not out), shorter on the sides, with an even shorter taper down to my neck.
Over the years, she has been a consummate pro and the best barber I’ve ever had.… Read the rest
Attending an estate sale is an excellent means of practicing memento mori, the ancient discipline of contemplating one’s inevitable death. Whether you’re the family left behind, the estate sale company workers who plan and execute them, or the buyers who gravitate from sale to sale picking over the material possessions and detritus of a person’s life, there is no dodging the hard facts: someone is dead, and soon, you will be too.
A fresh wave of awareness of my own inescapable—and ever close—demise washed over me recently when S. and I attended the Joffrion family estate sale. The Reverend Emile Joffrion and his wife Martha had served their beloved church family at the parish of the Church of the Nativity (Episcopal) in Huntsville, Alabama for some 67 years.… Read the rest
The question I dreaded answering came early in our recent trip to Ireland at around 5:30 a.m. on the drive from Dublin airport to our hotel from our 62-year-old cab driver, a seemingly nice enough bloke and good conversationalist, who, as we discovered after using an app to hail a cab with a set and transparent price for the return trip, probably charged us about double the normal fare (my bad for not asking his rate in the first place).
“So, do ye hav’ any Irish in ye? Any relations still livin’ here?
I avoided his eyes fixed on me in the rearview mirror, hung my head, and hesitated.… Read the rest
Daylight “saving” time. Seriously?
Pretty cheeky, if you ask me, when “The Powers That Be and Always Know Best” break into your house in the middle of the night and hack away at what precious few hours of quality sleep you do manage to get and can’t afford to lose.
Daylight saving time (DST) should be renamed “Daylight Shaving Time” (DSH*T!).
One look at me on a dance floor proves beyond any reasonable doubt my lack of natural tempo, so to take my random “your guess is a good as mine” circadian rhythm and flatten it even more is not just dropping a DSH*T-dipped disco ball at 2:00 a.m.… Read the rest
Imagine a gymnast nails her floor routine. She performs it beautifully and without so much as a single bobble as she sticks her landing. She wears tape on her left ankle because of an injury suffered at the end of the uneven bars, but it holds, fulfilling its purpose.
But her routine is less risky, or in gymnastics terms, has “a lower degree of difficulty.” The audience rewards her with loud and appreciative applause, especially in light of her injury, but many recognize it as a routine that could have been performed as perfectly by any one of several outstanding gymnasts at the meet.… Read the rest
A persistent Covid infection to usher in your 62nd birthday and Thanksgiving is a fine howdy-do, ain’t it?
Fresh off my 6th vaccination, and just when I thought it was safe to “move about the country” unmasked in an airplane, Covid reared its ugly head in me for apparently the first time since the start of the 2020 pandemic.
It is an ill-timed holiday visitor, like a microscopic Cousin Eddie arriving extra early in his dilapidated, rust-pocked, smoke-belching 1973 Ford Condor II RV and backing into my driveway while taking out the mailbox and dumping his septic tank in the process.… Read the rest
Ethan Patrick Gentry was born on March 2nd, 1999, and died on October 3rd, 2023. During his 24-plus years, Ethan packed in more fun, adventure, loving, and learning than many do in 80. He was the perfect illustration of the old saying, “It’s not the years in the life, but the life in the years that matters most.”
Ethan was a son, brother, grandson, nephew, cousin, and loyal friend to many who are here today. Out there, in the wide, wide world, there are thousands more who knew of him, and they all called out his name.
Ethan was blond, short, and skinny.… Read the rest
“Great Creator, we offer our gratitude for this moment we are in—and for life itself. Love is all around us tonight. A & Z are its source and center, and our eyes are drawn toward them.
“May Z & A receive courage, comfort, and strength as they pledge their love and commitment to each other. May the rest of us promise to assist and encircle them whenever they need us. Help us to renew our own vows of the heart, whatever they may be.
“By faith, we hold to the hope we are surrounded and supported by ‘a great cloud of witnesses’ who have lived, loved, and died before us.… Read the rest
Part 2 of my recounting of my sister Melanie Kay Brown Gentry‘s memorial service at the Roanoke (Virginia) Church of Christ on November 12, 2022. Part 1 can be found here.
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“I love the Progressive Insurance commercials where Dr. Rick advises young homeowners on how ‘not to become like their parents.’ I shouldn’t, because I am the parent, but I do.
“There is one in particular: a young homeowner, who looks a lot like me, proudly holds up a ‘website’ he’s printed from his computer. Dr. Rick coolly replies, ‘We don’t need to print the internet.’
“Well, thank goodness my sister A.… Read the rest
The walls of the Roanoke Church of Christ are saturated with so much song and scripture that beads of moisture resembling pearls of great price seem to flow down them like the tears of the many faces who have passed through her threshold seeking shelter and higher ground only to find there no places in this world ultimately watertight or safe. If they could speak, they would tell tales of sinners whose souls were both won and lost, epic pulpit battles over the “least jot and tittle,” deep betrayals and unlikely reconciliations, and people—so many people—dying way too young.
A man remembers four babies sitting in the laps of their mothers in the church nursery in the fall of 1971, one his own daughter.… Read the rest
I didn’t learn to tie a necktie until I was 18 years old. I’m pretty sure I wasn’t still wearing a clip-on. Likely, I never wore one at all.
As a late 1970s teenage preppy, my standard “school uniform” consisted of Levi’s and colorful button-down oxfords—open collar—topped off with either my varsity letter jacket or my prized herringbone gray Harris Tweed blazer with the black suede elbow patches. A pair of Nike Cortez or Adidas Superstars on one end and a wool flat cap on the other completed my “Harvard, here I come!” ensemble.
A “special occasion” other than Senior Prom or Homecoming first drove me to a mirror to tie my own: my father’s funeral.… Read the rest
“Smoke ‘em if you got ‘em” can mean “Do what you want, if you have the means.”
In the South, the phrase can have a different meaning, referencing instead the tradition of the winner of what was once the most heated football rivalry game in these parts, The University of Tennessee Volunteers versus the University of Alabama Crimson Tide, smoking a victory cigar on “The Third Saturday of October.”
I say “what was once” because the game had almost lost its relevance, with the Crimson Tide winning 15 straight games under the reign of the one who everyone in the world who is not an Alabama fan considers The Dark Lord Saban.… Read the rest
You probably didn’t hear about in on the news or social media, but Norah Jones got lost Friday night.
Not Norah Jones the jazzy, Grammy Award-winning singer-songwriter, although that is who this off-course and drifting NJ is named after.
This NJ is a hoary, miniscule canine furball of uncertain provenance who is at least half blind and almost completely deaf. She belongs to Number 2 son and his girlfriend N. who rescued her several years ago and have been re-rescuing her ever since.
They’ve gone to great lengths to keep her as healthy and happy as possible despite her apparent granulomatous meningoencephalomyelitis (GMC), a progressive inflammatory disease which attacks her central nervous system and affects her motor control.… Read the rest
