July in the streets of Mexico City: One of the women one never would marry. One of the women one sees
Homer’s a chair arranger who works in meeting rooms on 30 floors in a building tall as Trump Tower. At least it looks that tall to him
The tale’s a parable and it scares Bill more than any creepy clown hiding behind a tree
The others, of course, are more ra… but less apt to show it. Whenever I strike, I never romp o… I stand with the wrist that I’ve… from the lady locked in my teeth
It was nearly midnight and I was driving home after a long day when I realized there was no cat food in the house and I would be facing the same trio of feral cats bright and early at t...
Memories never go away. They’re visitors from yesterday arriving unannounced often to a mixed reception. Faces aren’t clear but
He doesn’t have to prove anything to me. The Holy Spirit, that is. I’ve always known He’s there, from childhood on, even if I ignored Him for many years. But like others growing older, ...
It is easier for a camel to pass through the eye of a needle than for one who is rich to enter the kingdom of God, Jesus told his disciples.
We’ve moved my wife and I from home to the last place we’ll ever live and she wants to know why
Fred must explain Halloween to Op… when he gets home from the poker g… He just had another bad Halloween… He thinks Opal doesn’t know but E… from across the street called Opal
Phil went to Memorial Park yester… on his crutches and saw new crosse… in the ground commemorating vetera… Must be a hundred more than last y… HIs brother’s cross is there, in…
In the summer of 1956, any Saturday at midnight when the moon was full and the stars were bright, you would see Grandma Groth
Virgil comes to group therapy every week in his pick-up truck with his dog, Buster, standing in the bed of the truck. The sessions are held for veterans of Korea and Vietnam. Quite a fe...
Every time the phone rings Bill’s afraid the caller might say another childhood classmate has di… This will hit him hard because Bill knows he’s moseying along
Autumn and the leaves, crisp in the swirling air, are pheasant wings once more Donal Mahoney