Rick Bragg

Recent Posts By Rick Bragg

Saving Face

I’ve been peeling labels off my mother for years. First through the words inside the books. And now from their covers.

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All-Night Gospel

Sung late into the night, the words stayed with the boy who didn’t think he was listening. I have reached a place in life where I do not think clearly about the present, or the future. What I do, mostly, is remember, my thoughts triggered by some flyer flapping on a telephone pole, or a scrap of a song.

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Dixie Snow

Where I live, a light snow is a big event, to be wondered at rather than plowed.

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O Christmas Sock

Instead of red velvet trimmed with fur, ours came with a sporty stripe. But what matters most is what’s inside, and ours stretched to hold more joy.

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Fully Dressed

You can keep your stuffing. My favorite Thanksgiving side is just that—on the side—and we call it dressing. The word “stuffing” had a lot of connotations when I was a boy. None of them had anything to do with food.

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Praise the Gourd

I bemoan the day the zombie usurped the punkin as the unofficial mascot of Halloween. Halloween used to be simple. You got a punkin, cut off its top, gouged out its stringy orange insides, and carved a face on it that looked like your brother. But that just wasn’t good enough for some folks.

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The Blank Notebook

Cracked open on a desk, it was a door that led to endless possibilities. Its emptiness begged to be filled with words and dreams and promise. It held nothing. It held everything.

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Endless Summer

There was a time when August stretched out forever, the end of it somewhere beyond the horizon of childhood’s favorite season.  It was a magnificent mud hole. It was an inland sea, as much like any other mud hole as a ditch is to the Erie Canal. It was hip deep on a small boy, 40 feet long, and spanned […]

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Fish Story

This is a fish story. That said, it is still mostly true. “We need to go fishin’ out in the Gulf, on my boat,” said my friend Randy Jones. “Not,” I said, “if you are driving.” I had never heard of any great seafarers from Sand Mountain, Alabama, and had this awful image in my head of him and me playing […]

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Your Groveling Advice

A few months ago, I asked readers for advice on how to grovel. The alternative—to do right in the first place—I rejected from self-awareness. Well, proving that people have too much time on their hands, I actually got some tips. I now know three indelible things: one, the Southern man knows more about groveling than he ought to admit; two, […]

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