October 18, 2010 § 3 Comments
Should I be embarrassed?
It doesn’t seem that long ago–I was thirteen, hugging my grandpa’s arch-top Harmony guitar and singing, “There is…a house…in New Orleans, they call… the Risin’ Sun…”
Shivered-through with the deep and abiding sorrow of the song, and trying to figure out the guitar part, I played the 45 of Eric Burdon and The Animals over and over. I knew nothing about playing a guitar, but worked on it with focused desire. After two weeks of focused desire my mother signed me up for guitar lessons.
October 15, 2010 § 8 Comments
He was riding his bike to school but never got there. They found the bicycle beside the canal, but never a body.
We were sophomores at Princeton High when it happened.
I didn’t know him well, no one I knew, knew him well. And as I remember it, when suddenly we were all talking about him, it seemed that nobody did.
We had seen him around. in the hall, in class, a tall skinny kid with curly hair, ironic and sarcastic.
Someone said he was smart.
October 13, 2010 § Leave a comment
Although Hurricane Dennis caused millions of dollars in damage in Dade County, Florida, fortunately for my family, living aboard a leaky wooden boat at a small Keys resort called “Smuggler’s Cove,” it hit us as a tropical storm–albeit with rainfall totals of biblical proportions. Did I mention our boat was leaky?