The Bishop and the Butterfly: Murder, Politics, and the End of the Jazz Age
wabby's picture
wabby's picture

Wabby's Marine

When I was five years old I had my own Marine. His name was George but I called him Zorro. I am, after all, a child of the television age and he seemed like a Zorro to me.

He was my brother-in-law's brother (did I ever mention I was born 15 years after my eldest sister?) and he was a frequent visitor at my parent's house. He was there as often as my sister and b-i-l were and sometimes even when they weren't. George liked us. George liked me. No, he wasn't a child molester. It's one of the few bad things he wasn't.

wabby's picture

How I Ruined A Saturday Afternoon

I went to a garden party.
Rick Nelson wasn’t there.


There was no music of any kind.
Just mounds of Tupperware.

My hostess was a woman,
A stranger to me I’m afraid.
I was dragged to this thing by my cousin’s wife
To benefit her Lady’s Aid

wabby's picture

A Memory For Memorial Day

He sits quietly
with a small flag in his hands
haunted by foxholes.

                 ~Mr. Smith

wabby's picture

O, Christmas Tree!

I love trees in general. Yeah. I've hugged 'em. So, my affection for Christmas trees should come as no surprise. Even though I do not follow the Christian faith, I have come to understand not being Christian does not necessarily stop anyone from putting up a Christmas tree. It has become, I think, a kind of generic symbol of gift-giving, good tidings and joy.

Pages

Bloggers

AM
Ben
Cho
DF
GFS
HSG
MJS
NCD
rha
TJ
Tom
wws