How do you deal with the death of a loved one? For me, an important facet of grieving is closure. This is an account of what I did at the burial of my mother. Continue reading
Category Archives: Faith
by Mark T Wayne
“Whaddaya think is da best Christmas gift o’ dem all?” Loop Lonagan puts this puerile question in a peculiar verbal form he calls the American language just as Donatis Ludditis and I innocently raise a Christmas toast at that notable Chicago landmark, Ludditis Shots & Beer. The place offers several distinct advantages. Our host never presents a bill for our proclivities and the back room houses our magazine offices.
“I got best gift! Is this!” Ludditis states his case in his Lithuanian accent, and passes fancy boxes across the table. “This one for you, Mr. Wayne. Is Christmas!” Continue reading
This thing still replays in my mind. And the news is everywhere!
“The last real American sports story—the story of the team that couldn’t and seemingly never would—is gone for good… [Rick Morrissey – Sun Times] Now I watch in shocked delight as the Cub’s sleeping bats come alive! A leadoff home run…
“…ending more than a century of flops, futility and frustration.” [Ronald Blum – Associated Press] …now more runs—a lot more runs, but way too many innings left to go… Continue reading
This is outrageous. I’m concentrating on my computer screen when a huge mitt grabs me by the back of the belt and plucks me from my chair. Next thing I’m dangled high over the desk, arms and legs flailing till I steady my balance and end up nose-to-nose with Big Bill Blair, our urban Paul Bunyan.
“‘Scuse me, Mr. Jonelis,” he says in a slow polite rumble that carries with it a stale smell of corned beef and cigar.
Big Bill slowly chews gum. Looks disinterested. Acts like nothing’s unusual. Continue reading
by Howard Tullman
Very few things in our lives are absolute. Everything is measured by degree, from our attention to our patience to the range and intensity of our emotions.
At the same time, some things are absolute: You can’t be all things to all people; you can’t dance every dance; and, throughout your life, you’ve got to make hard choices, sacrifices, and compromises, and then you’ve got to live with them through thick and thin for a very long time. Continue reading
Whereas it is the duty of all nations to acknowledge the providence of Almighty God, to obey His will, to be grateful for His benefits, and humbly to implore His protection and favor; and—Whereas both Houses of Congress have, by their joint committee, requested me “to recommend to the people of the United States a day of public thanksgiving and prayer, Continue reading
Again at this season, the haunting words of a favorite song come back to me:
“You don’t ask a drowning man if he wants to be saved,
When you know he’s sinking down—down beneath the crashing waves.” Continue reading
“You don’t ask a drowning man if he wants to be saved when you know he’s sinking down—down beneath the crashing waves. Continue reading
In a previous post, I told about flying a small plane on instruments through a series of thunderstorms and the shock and delight of making it back alive. I made the case that, whether we write about it in fiction or experience it in real life, there’s something wonderful about the thrill of imminent death—a feeling for which I have no words. Then the death of a loved one brought home a forgotten lesson. In the article that followed, I presented stark images—sights the bulk of us avoid. I made the case that, in real life, common events move us—events too mundane for fiction. Is that strictly true? I now have yet another side of the question to explore. Let me tell you a story about a loving mother who did her best. Continue reading
We don’t write about such things. The events that move us in the real world are too mundane for that. I step away from the norm to give my account.
I’ve sent the four limos away and stand in my best blue suit and black wool coat, flanked by two strong nephews who asked permission to remain with me at a time when polite society withdraws. It’s January 29th, yet hundreds of stale, wind-blown Christmas wreaths remain staked to the ground in long, precise rows. The wind gusts against our fresh displays of pink and lavender roses. How they cut such a clean rectangle into the ground, I don’t know. Continue reading
This Christmas I want to talk about the concept of “Father.” I don’t know how to do that without getting intensely personal, so that’s what I’m about to do. Some people relate to the word Father with tender feelings of love and warmth. Others find the thought chilling. I hope these few words will have meaning to both groups. Continue reading