As the hot August night wore on in the attic of the old house, she decided she couldn’t take it anymore.
It was growing more stifling by the minute and in the claustrophobic space made of rough boards, there was a squeaking sound of scurrying mice somewhere in the dark corners and moving across the floor. (more…)
ELEANOR P. LABROZZI PHOTO Irish eyes. Fiddler Haley Richardson performing last year on St. Patrick’s Day at the Presbyterian Church.
They were the poorest of the poor, starving, running for their lives, crossing an ocean, trying to escape a catastrophe that eventually killed more than a million souls. Two million made it out alive to waiting ships, but then many died on the journey to a find a safe harbor.
Overall, they were reviled when they landed as not quite human, described by one observer as “brutal, base … creatures that crawl and eat dirt and poison every community they infest.” (more…)
Sweets for the sweet.
The traditional American song, “Careless Love,” recorded many times, but owned by Bessie Smith, speaks to what can happen when an accelerated heart rate combines with being struck suddenly blind, staring at a light all around one person.
“Love, oh love, oh careless love/You fly through my head like wine/You’ve wrecked the life of many a poor soul/And you nearly spoiled this life of mine.”
This love-with-consequences theme goes back to the man who gives his name to the holiday tomorrow. St. Valentine believed in love so fervently that he fearlessly married Christian couples in ancient Rome when doing so was a capital offense. (more…)
COURTESY PHOTO Are you ready for some …you know.
One autumn Sunday my brother tuned in to watch the game.
When a “Law and Order” rerun came on instead of cheerleaders, pickup truck commercials and mayhem, he turned to his wife, Sue, who was reading the newspaper, and asked, “Why do you think they’d cancel the game?”
Sue looked around the side of her paper and said, “For stupidity?” (more…)
JOHN CLARE PHOTO
The Poles wake up to what they say is a howling of kittens. The French greet the morning with a wooden mouth and a hair ache, while the Danes get carpenters in the forehead.
English speakers the world over call that mix of mortar-blast headache, queasiness, Sahara thirst, uncertain recollections of the previous evening – I didn’t, did I? – and a brooding sense of of guilt as simply a hangover. (more…)