Saturday Morning Bulbology

Everything I know about bulbs I learned from my Uncle Hebron. He came to our river house in the red clay hills of Alabama, post knee-replacement. At the time, Hebie was about 75 years old. He brought a netted bag of daffodil bulbs. The house had a hill, and he painstakingly walked up and down that hill, covering it with daffodil bulbs. Watching...

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We are Not Experiencing the Same Virus

One of the hard things about this time of coronavirus (there are so many) is that people are not in the same place. Not physically, not geographically, not psychologically. Some folks are blissfully learning to make their own pasta while reluctantly training themselves to spend 24 hrs a day in close-company with their spouse. Others, like me, are...

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The Salad Days

We’ve been granted a reprieve here in Waveland. Two weeks before descent of coronavirus, my husband had hip surgery. I wrote about the harrowing experience here. Six weeks later, after an encouraging doctor’s report, we have entered the salad days. Thing about the salad days, sometimes it’s hard to know you’re in them...

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This Week in CV Time

It’s hard for me to get anything done. Chores pop up like weasels. After one is completed—there!—the next grins at me, chittering for attention. Each day, I look up only to discover it’s two o’clock in the afternoon, and I need a nap. With Tom’s hip surgery difficulties, I’m performing three jobs: mine, his, and the...

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What are We Talking About?

What are we talking about during this coronavirus? Is it the same thing we’re always talking about, just folded and stuffed into the container of the virus? What I’m asking is, are you riding your normal hobby horse—Trump has the analytical ability of a third grader; Nancy Pelosi doesn’t have the sense God gave a rock; the main...

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Where Go Our Dreams?

Today my grief is for the dreams. The coronavirus brings new feelings each day. For me, fear is primary among them. But today, my heart is breaking for those who have built dreams—a fabulous restaurant, their own plumbing business, a profitable bookshop—only to watch it shutter. Closed. No customers. Quiet. I grieve, too, for those who stand...

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Surgery in the Time of Coronavirus

I sat in the early-morning dark of the hospital parking lot, my phone clutched in my hand. I’d been in the lot since 3:30 am. The charge on the phone—my lifeline to my husband—was running out. No one else was in the lot. A fluorescent streetlight blinked. Was the pain in his leg a blood clot? Was he in danger? My gaze flickered between the...

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Could There Be a Better Combination?

I just finished watching Steph Curry and Dr. Fauci have a Q&A on the coronavirus on IG. It was the best. An extremely healthy, hugely popular young athlete and an old, extremely personable expert on the coronavirus talking in an informal question and answer session, with Steph (I’m gonna call him Steph as if we go way back) analyzing and...

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Silver Linings in a Cloud

It is 9:00am. I have walked the dog, fried eggs for breakfast, and wiped down all the frequently touched surfaces in the apartment. I’ve taken out the trash and the recycle, fed the dog, and helped my husband with his needs as a post-surgery patient. I’ve cleaned the dishes and started a load of laundry. Between care duties and the coronavirus,...

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Coming of Age in Mississippi

Coming of Age in Mississippi: Ann Moody (published 1968) Reading accurate histories of Mississippi can be a tradeoff between being appropriately reminded—again—of how TERRIBLE things were and constantly seeing Black folk as victims, victims, victims. Ann Moody—born Essie May Moody—was not a victim. She was a girl then young woman whose clear-sightedness...

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