I was in high school when I first saw a Modigliani painting. I was much taken by the long sensual lines, the muted earthy colors, and the strange contradiction of an abstracted nude that yet, somehow oozed life and sexual allure.
I was in high school when I first saw a Modigliani painting. I was much taken by the long sensual lines, the muted earthy colors, and the strange contradiction of an abstracted nude that yet, somehow oozed life and sexual allure.
Three little words that stick in the craw. Even when we know that we don’t know, we are reluctant to say so.
Remember the toy of pegs & holes? The game was to tap round pegs; square pegs; and triangular pegs into their proper holes? It taught us all, early on, to think of disparate things as components of categories.
It’s a very old question. II Peter 3:11–18 asks, “What manner of persons ought yea to be”, then instructs, ”Grow in Grace and in the knowledge of our Lord”.
Friday, March 10, 1933, Monroe Iowa, 8:00 A.M. - Five rounds from a pump-action 12 gauge shotgun took the lives of four souls. Each died from close-range blasts that splattered blood, flesh and bone.
My friend Page would recall some adventure of Bix Beiderbecke’s, which would then remind someone else of an interesting story about Django Reinhart, which would remind me that Django Reinhart had only two good fingers on his fretting hand.
Ting ,ding, ding, buzz . . . “Welcome! Thank you for calling Multi-Maga Services Amalgamated. This call may be recorded for security purposes. Para escuchar este mensaje en español, presione #dos . . . a pause, then . . .
Your call is very important to us.
Friday / October 30, 1874 / Bethany, Missouri: A piercing northwest wind swirled icy cold & and a powdery haze of falling snow through the crowd.
A Greek word (ere-a-trey) meaning both excellence and virtue; two sides of the same coin as far as the Greeks of the Classical period were concerned.
I sat in drowsy reverie on the stoop of the little shed that was now a chicken house.
Uncle Archie was never really ready for work until he had a Kent fired up and stuck in the corner of his mouth.
His hand reached out to hers.
She takes his hand -
A double troth
of two souls made one.
One evening, not too long after the History of Mt. Moriah book arrived in the mail, my Dad and I were casually leafing through it – checking out all the photos.
“Yoo hoo, it’s me, my name is Pinky Lee” he sang, as he danced his odd little sideways shuffle back and forth across the stage.
In the course of my lifetime I have watched America devolve from a nation of hardy self-reliant individualists into a nation of namby-pamby hyper-sensitive crybabies.