PART TWO Place: Kimball Elementary School, Washington, D.C. Time: September, 1950 to June, 1957 I was a chunky and nervous kid with fallen arches, bad eyesight, a severe stutter, frequent earaches, excruciating toothaches, and a substantial overbite. I cried a lot, complained, constantly sweated, and talked in class when I shouldn’t. And at recess, I […]
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My mother always outdid the other mothers in our 1950’s Washington, D.C. middle-class neighborhood. Especially in preparing extravagant meals for the chosen ones invited to our house by my father, your great granddaddy, the criminal. Being the 1950’s housewife, your great-grandmamma agreed with his decision and did all the work. So the chosen ones enjoyed
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Getting Them Before They Get Us Addictions can kill you. I know. I almost died. It was not until a mid-life event happened to me that I finally began to grasp the fact that I was raised in an alcoholic family. It was as if a jack-in-the-box had suddenly popped up and said: “Surprise!” “Surprise!”
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Who can forget the advertising icon of the strong, viril cowboy who roped horses, and smoked Marlboro cigarettes? Billboards populated the country, and men emulated Marlboro men and took to smoking. Don remembers his father, and other men who died along with the advertising campaign. But they were victims of smoking, dying of cancer.
Don Beaudreau discusses the importance of trees, “The sacredness of trees is deeply rooted in religious conceptualization in early humanity. This concept is based on the fundamental idea of the unity of life in nature.”
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A Fable for Our Times Once upon a time, there was a festive gathering of the famous and fabulous at a party hosted by the Easter Bunny. The list included Cupid, Santa Claus, the Fairy Godmother, the Great Jehovah, St. Patrick, Punxsutawney Phil, the New Year Baby, the Grim Reaper, the Tooth Fairy, the Three
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The Four Keys to Happiness: Advice from the Lakeside Curmudgeon When I was 12 years old, I took up the sousaphone—an oversized tuba that wraps around the body and is named after John Philip Sousa, the man who was obsessed with writing marches. I didn’t choose to play such a concoction of plumbing, but was
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