I might have read The Pilgrim’s Progress before. There is evidence that points in this direction. Snug it sat there in my bookcase, my dilettante’s…
Category: Sung
In 2018, I became a fan of Johnny Marr. It only took thirty years. Three decades after dubbing my buddy’s Queen Is Dead cassette, after…
Pursuing another self-imposed deadline, I plowed through Virginia Woolf’s Mrs. Dalloway. (Keeping up with a book club often calls for such bouts of efficiency.) Thus,…
Sturgill Simpon’s apocalyptic tune “Make Art Not Friends” is taking on a new meaning for me these days, in this Our Time of Corona. A…
I’ve had this one in the can for over two years now. I started it right after daylight savings time switched over, when the evenings…
“Tradition’s whatever you grew up with.” That was some truth passed on to me by a wise Mennonite lady who was doing the best she…
I’m in no rush here, but before I kick it, I’d like to find a place to be buried, somewhere to rest my bones that…
Bob Weir dropped some good advice in a GQ interview not long ago. But before I get to that, let me acknowledge that my relationship…
“Every summer I fight the dream of running away.” Sometimes a line sticks with you. I wrote that in a heartbeat years ago, submitting one…
There was a stretch, a decade or so, from the late 90s through the early 2000s when a certain swath of still-youngish evangelicals took comfort…