BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… OLD FRENCH BRICKS. I remember the summer’s light dappled through the urban tree canopy of maple and birch and ginkgo, the summer sky a patchy blue over St. Louis, the old doors blue, red, green and white, each stoop, each 19th century doorway, leading to another home, another series of lives and…
BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… BRICKS IN TIME. I’m doing my best to stay awake, leaning back in the overstuffed couch as the clock ticks toward midnight. I’m catching up on my favorite science fiction series, a series now only a mere 30 years old. On the screen, the captain is, uncharacteristically, scrubbing clams, leaning back against…
BEEN THINKIN’ ABOUT… CAKE, ICE, FOG. It was so foggy the black night I drove home across bleak Illinois prairies and into dark Illinois woods. The thick fog obscured red tail lights, white snow-packed ice, even stop signs. West central Illinois is a different sort of place, a place where the folklore of a lost…
Irish Games in the Hills by Joshua Heston I suspect more than one exasperated hillbilly has — unknowingly — participated in the old Celtic games of strength. The necessary components are at hand. First, there are plenty of stones for throwing. Second, there are a great number of Irish and Scotch families in these hills.…