I really like those hole-in-the-wall restaurants that claim to have “world famous” food items. They are usually located in tiny towns, somewhere in the middle of nowhere USA. When you get there, you drive down Main Street and you turn right at the light. If you go past the old First Baptist Church you went too far.
A little ways down, where the road gets a little bumpy and the only other business you see is a general store looking kind of place, is where you will find an eatery with a world famous food item.
They are often named…
In the 2003 movie Big Fish, a busy corporate business type is the son of a dying man. They meet up as the father, stricken with cancer, is experiencing his last days. The two have grown distant. The son feels that he doesn’t know his true dad.
True to his character, Edward Sr., on his death bed recounts stories of his past, unbelievable tall tales of big fish, a walking giant, twin sister performers, charismatic circus personalities, and a witch who can tell the future. Edward Jr. …
I have a friend named Jean. She doesn’t have a smartphone. She’s never purchased anything online for herself. If she needs something, she drives down to the grocery store. If she misses a call, she calls back when she’s ready. When she pays for something she uses cash.
She lives on her time and does things her way. When the world is moving too fast. Jean sits and waits. She knows that things will eventually make their way around to her corner of the world. She doesn’t mind waiting.
I like Jean’s way of life even though I don’t see…
Every morning I see the same man pass by my house. I live across the street from a gas station/convenience store. He walks in the same direction, moving slowly, not because he can’t walk quickly but probably because he knows where he is going. He knows where he will end up for the day.
He has a cup in hand and he sips. His hair is standing up in all different directions. He’s tall and lean. He wears the same outfit almost daily. I’m describing him because I don’t know his name.
Sometimes, on my morning walk, we cross paths…
This heatwave has me wanting to stay indoors wishing for cold mornings and comfort food. At work, I play Christmas music and on my computer screen the scene of snowy neighborhoods and colorfully lit homes is on display. Anything to make me forget about triple-digit weather.
All this thinking of the holidays reminds me of childhood. When I was a kid, mom used to make buñuelos every New Year’s Eve to celebrate the año nuevo. A buñuelo is a fried fritter of sorts. …
With all the heaviness, the struggles, and the endless political battles that seemingly engulf all corners of the world, I’m always amazed at how we continue to get up and get going each day.
From viruses to violence, stock market dips, gas price ups, school sessions out, and high-paying jobs hard to find, we manage to get up and get going each day.
What a wonderful statement on the resilience of regular people who find something in themselves to continue on no matter what comes at them. I hear often how hard life was during the depression and other darker…
I like picking up things that feel like they’ve always been there. This happened recently when I ran across a new issue of National Geographic. It was the latest issue out on the newsstand. So new, the pages close back up when you try to open it with one hand. Yet, it felt as familiar as those old issues stacked up in dusty bookshelf corners.
Seeing the bright yellow border on the front cover really took me back. The pages inside were filled with amazing photographs of exotic animals you only see in the movies. Sea creatures that look like…
Every chance I get, I walk over to the city park, right in the middle of town, just to sit. Sometimes I take my shoes off to feel the grass in between my toes. A few minutes turns into an hour, and before I know it, I spent part of an afternoon just sitting, listening, and watching.
What I see and hear are the kinds of things that you read about in books of poems written by great authors. …
Every day, during my fifty-minute drive to work and my fifty-minute drive back home, I see the movement, the rumblings of what looks like a society stretching its arms and wanting to get back up again.
People are walking dogs. The same lady in the reflective yellow vest is running around the same corner each day. As the sun rises so does steam off the rooftops of small businesses who are warming up neighborhoods with their baked goods and coffee.
School parking lots look a little fuller. Lanyards with name tags bumping up and down on chests are seen as…
Each time I visit my great-grandfather’s grave, I think of the lesson taught in the animated movie Coco. The lesson of remembering and the tradition of respect to family.
I see his grave like it’s out on a forgotten island. It’s one of those simple graves with his name, Elias Villarreal, stenciled into a block of cement that frames the borders of the plot. There is no picture or fancy designs. No religious symbols or verses. It simply reads Elias Villarreal 1886–1939.
Most of the other plots in this older section of the cemetery are the same. Surrounding by dirt…
