In the fall of 1964 a slow, black procession wound its way from the Community Methodist Church to the cemetery on West Road. It was midday when the hearse arrived and deposited its passenger atop the piled loamy soil near a giant oak tree. In the fields that surrounded the hilltop burial ground the earth […]Read more "Dues to Vietnam"
Please join us this Sunday, March 28 on Zoom at 10:30 AM PST for our presentation at the Oakmont Sunday Symposium.Read more "3/28/2021 Guest Lecture at the Oakmont Sunday Symposium"
Arnie got fishing gear that Christmas; no big surprise. Delores, a sky-blue angora sweater the color of her pretty eyes. Mom, from Dad, a ruffly red nightgown that raised eyebrows and generated snickers. Eddie was going in the Army so he liked his OD-green travel bag and the leather Dopp kit. Great-aunt Kit, Grandma Egli, and Aunt Vinnie all got lavender powder and bed […]Read more "Christmas 1956"
Writers are those sometimes-spacy people who walk around with stories unreeling in their heads. They miss cultural clues: the woman behind them in a checkout line pushing subtly with her cart, wanting the writer to wake up and get her apples and toilet paper on the conveyor belt. But the writer is finishing a living-color […]Read more "The Puppy"