My favorite part of Fritz’s funeral was when his friends got up to tell stories about him--- how he got locked inside the city dump once, how he ate breakfast at Wimpy’s diner every week, and how the waitresses kept a bottle of special syrup there just for him. Fritz was man with his eyes … Continue reading Fritz
You're a writer, and suddenly, it's 1940 again, and the streets are dark because the blackout curtains are pulled tight. But behind them, there's a lamp in the window of a second-story university room, where Jack Lewis and his brother brew tea and smoke. The bell of Christ's Church tolls nine as they wait for … Continue reading A Table in 1940
My friend who shares my name, Bethany Rose, called me last Tuesday morning from somewhere up in Minnesota, where she was bundled and walking her Great Pyrenees named Shiloh. “We’re experiencing a warm front,” she said. “It’s twenty-five degrees today.” I was planting a tray of lettuce on my patio in Missouri, because we were … Continue reading The Long Winter
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