Gun Day Four I need a haircut. I tell my barber, and the barber shop gang, about my weapon. Here for the first time, I get camaraderie. Wistful memories about youthful hunting. Several good tips on safety. _____
Gun Day Three I think this weapon is making me mildly hysterical, presuming one can be just a bit hysterical. This pistol is all I think about. I note that I never fantasize about what can go wrong with this weapon. That said, it’s not like what can go right is soothing. I go to …
Gun Day Two I’m surprised at how small the gun seems. I looked up my state’s gun regulations online. It was a quick read. As near as I can tell, I can buy, carry and conceal everything up to and including a Light Anti-Tank Weapon. Phoebe went to visit her father today. She asked him …
Gun Day One Actually, I am not a gun owner. I am half a gun owner. The revolver is right here, in front of my keyboard. I never thought I’d say that. With the exception of one drunken New Year’s at John McGoogan’s, I haven’t fired a weapon since I was in Vietnam. I’m surprised …
in a parking lot I spot an acorn falling from nothing at all I used to live in Mexico City. About 1984 or 1985, I went to Tepeyac on December the 12th, the Feast Of Our Lady of Guadalupe. Tepeyac, which is now a part of Mexico City, is the hill where Our Lady appeared …
Gus McCrae of Lonesome Dove says, “The older the violin, the sweeter the music.” But I like to think of myself as an old C-melody sax. That’s an actual name, by the way, C-melody saxophone. A lovely name, when I think of it, with a lovely sound. _____
Et introibo ad altare Dei: ad Deum qui laetificat juventutem meam. “And I will go to the altar of God, to God, the joy of my youth.” As I began 8th grade, my greatest existential conundrum revolved around whether nuns wore brassieres. And, if so, why? When I was a boy, I attended a small, …
Many years ago, I made the acquaintance of Howard Nemerov. I don’t want this to sound any larger than it was — acquaintance is just the right word. He lived down the street from me here, in St. Louis. Sometimes we’d talk of war, World War II for him, Vietnam for me. I remember once …