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Down to the Lick Log

Sometimes, the rubber hits the road. Or, to use a more personal metaphor, sooner or later, we get down to the lick log. I know a lick log because the cows at Mamo and Papo’s farm had salt licks. My Uncle Jimmy put the blocks of salt on stumps in the field behind the barn. The cows, for God knows what reason, liked salt. They would low...

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Fix the Creative Writing Workshop

Are you a writer? In the course of “learning to write,” have you participated in a writing workshop? How did it go? Was it fun? Did it make the piece you were workshopping better? Did you learn something profound that stuck with you? Or were the teachings smothered by the acidic emotions of being “critiqued” by those who...

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Lenten Bookmarks

For Lent, I fasted from the morning news and made Lenten bookmarks. The news was making me mad—it’s supposed to be financial news, but one of the anchors was parroting political propaganda—and I didn’t want to start the day that way. But if I give something up, I need to put something new in its place. My niece had given me a...

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The Heart of Danger

My family heads into hurricanes. They pinpoint the spot of landing – why, it’s almost a hundred miles from our beach! – and pile into the car. Hurry, they say, we need to arrive before they close the bridge. The governor has declared a state of emergency. The authorities have warned 150,00 people to retreat inland, and we are going to the...

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Origin of Black History Month

Today, the last day of February, we’re going to give credit where credit is due. The origin of Black History Month. Q: Who started it? A: Carter Woodson. Woodson was a major American historian living and working during the first half of the 20th century. He founded the predecessor to the Journal of African American History, one of the...

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Basquiat Our Patron Saint

In 2011, we rented an apartment (not a condo; everyone wants to make it a condo) in New Orleans. On the walls lived Jean-Michel Basquiat. For a while, the building had been abandoned and inhabitants used the walls for murals. The developer who bought the dilapidated building leaned into the graffiti and made Basquiat our patron saint of the...

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Until August Wilson

I had given up on plays until August Wilson. Much of my social life for decades had included attending plays. New Stage Theater in Jackson. Several theaters in Memphis. At one point, during a performance, I thought, What are you doing here? The play was not engaging. I was not having a good time. Until I discovered August Wilson. I would...

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