WPLongform
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My son is writing his undergraduate thesis for Honors Meteorology on the topic, The Genesis of Tornadoes. I was wondering if The Revelation of Tornadoes might be easier to write. Tornado prediction is a non-linear dart tossed into the misty morning fog. It’s fraught with downdrafts of hope and gusts of unfounded certitude. Yet we…
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Becky Marie Davis ran home today. The last time she ran was 1954. But today, her legs were unbound, her lungs filled with fresh air, her heart soaked in heavens glory. As I’ve watched the graceful withering of my Aunt Becky’s physical nature I’ve observed the astounding levity of her soul. One can easily suggest…
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Part one My daughter Lauren has an ear tag from birth about the size of an uncooked lentil. At the age of four, she informed her two younger siblings that her ear tag was Cherokee Indian…the rest of her was Pilgrim. My understanding of my own Native Indian heritage is apparently less considered. During my…
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It was payday, and my son, home from college for the weekend could smell cash. Having just purchased the latest Apple laptop with borrowed funds, he was on a mission to earn money to pay for his new computer. He had driven home from Norman to help celebrate his Mom’s 50th birthday and had called…
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I’ve always loved baseball. Even though it’s a team game, I found solitary ways to embrace it’s poetic rhythms. I was a baseball Walter Mitty, transported to Busch Stadium in St. Louis. I straddled the mound glaring at the batter with annoyed disdain. I emulated Bob Gibson, throwing a rubber baseball against the brick wall…
Bespoke 