Like most people, I'm thinking of the terrorist trauma in Paris, though with a somewhat different perspective.
Sometimes events happen that are so horrific, so shocking that we find it difficult to process. The Paris terrorist attacks, which left 129 dead, many more injured, and the rest of the world unnerved, is the most recent example.
Many French people referred to the January attacks on the offices of French satirical weekly Charlie Hebdo and other sites as their 9/11. As awful as that time was, it was not a 9/11.
Among the presidential candidates of the Republican Party and their foreign policy leaders on Capitol Hill the cry is almost universal: Barack Obama has no strategy for winning the war on ISIS.
I am in my quiet spot on this earth today, but thinking only of another place, another country, a good friend.
The rains came down and the floods came up, and I did not complain. The kittens played on the porch to avoid wet grass on their feet, gardenia leaves brushing their faces, and dripping rain on their soft kitten fur.
Everything that follows assumes people of good will, who believe in equality of opportunity and rejoice when any person has a happy and successful life, outnumber everybody else.
Friday night I was asked to tell stories at a "lock-in" for the West Point Episcopal Church's youth group. I was reminded of how, with all the interest in Facebook, Twitter and other forms of social media, the passing down of oral traditions from generation to generation by story tellers is being lost.
A friend and I were talking about law enforcement the other day. "How many times have you been stopped and searched by the police?" J. asked. We're about the same age. "None, at least not since college," I said. "What about you?" "Four times," he said. He happens to be black, well educated and prominent in his community.
Slim, my man, I think the butter just slipped off your biscuit. Suggesting that Dak Prescott and MSU football players refuse to play Alabama over a flag is outrageous (Slimantics: A tale of two teams, Nov. 13).
Des Moines, Iowa -- You can't drive far in these parts without seeing Ben Carson on a billboard, looking more like a man of the cloth than of the operating room. There's something vaguely beatific in that face and beaming smile. "Run Ben Run!" reads the text on one sign. The moviegoer's mind can't escape the immediate association.
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