The boy has gone off to college now. And here I am, left with all the peace and quiet I have learned not to miss.
Recent Posts By Rick Bragg
In lieu of a Valentine—or so I am told—most women would take a first-rate apology when we have done wrong. I am willing to learn. But I need your help.
Captivated by a time before my time, I increasingly find myself most at home in the presence of the past.
I’m dreaming of a Christmas free of the harmless fibs, gentle untruths, and little white lies that pile up like (fake) snow.
The turkey carcass is down to bones. The mashed potatoes are nothing more than a sad, hopeful, metallic scraping—some people just can’t accept that gone is gone. The pinto beans and ham are in Tupperware, divided 14 ways. The last biscuit is a memory.
Before a waiting feast, eternal blessings are what a child endures and an old man learns to savor.