Kith & Kin

GREENVILLE, SC:  FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE. Nov. 13, 2023 New media empire InstaGrump announces the launch of their new interactive website! Below is further information provided by the company. Calling all introverts, hermits, misanthropes, cynics, snarks, and generally grouchy people— ·        Are you sick to death of people spilling their guts on social media sites? ·        Do you think you will vomit if you see one more photo of other people’s vacations, filled with hysterically laughing family members covered by sand and sunburn and captioned, “Having a wonderful time in Patagonia! You simply must come here!”? And thinking, “Where the heck is Patagonia?” ·        Do you tire of seeing posts about completely inane and unimportant events in others’ lives, things such as graduations, weddings, births, and funerals? ·        Do you resent being dragged ...

It was January 1982, my first night back in the dorms after spending much of Christmas break with my girlfriend Cindy. I had a dream that night that I still haven’t forgotten. In the dream Cindy and her grandmother and I were driving in a car. As we drove, we passed a large group of NASA rockets that were ready to blast off. They were right next to the road. I only had time to think, “They shouldn’t put those there! What if some sort of accident happened?” when an accident happened. One of the rockets exploded and began to fall sideways toward the road. I knew this was it, we were all going to die, so I prayed, “Father, into Thy hands I commend my spirit!” And then all I could see and hear was white noise. Even though I couldn’t see Cindy, I could hear her. She was crying out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!” and I knew she was dying in pain. It broke my heart. So I shouted to her, “I love you, Cindy! I love you!” And then I woke up. When I woke up, I realized two things: I had just shouted, “I...

We always said that Melba Clark was in charge of “alphanumeric prestidigitation.” That meant she was a phenomenal typist. And she was a favorite of everyone in the department, an attractive, outspoken Southern belle in her fifties with an engaging smile and a great sense of humor. I was sitting at my desk in my office at work that morning, and Melba came in. “A plane just hit the World Trade Center.” I think I laughed and said something stupid like, “Oops! How could somebody do that?” Then I added, “A plane hit the Empire State Building back in the forties, I think.” And that’s the last I thought about it until she came back in a few minutes later. “Another plane hit the other tower.” It wasn’t funny anymore. “What!?” My jaw dropped. Melba stood looking at me soberly. “This is terrorism!” I said. I called Cindy right away and told her to turn on the TV. At work we tried to use the new technology called “the Internet” to see what was happening, but it was so overloaded with ...

  I was playing with toys on the threadbare gray carpet in the dining room. Mom was working on supper in the kitchen—one of my favorite meals: waffles! But things didn’t seem to be going well. “Rrrrrr!” I could hear her say. “This stupid thing!” Apparently the waffle iron wasn’t the only thing heating up in the kitchen today. More groans and growls of frustration emanated from the kitchen. I peeked through the doorway to see what the problem was. Just then Mom opened the waffle iron. The top half of the waffle was stuck to the top heating element. The bottom half of the waffle was stuck to the bottom heating element. The middle of the waffle was goopy and dripping. The edges of the waffle were black, crispy, and smoking.   “Grrrrr! This is crazy ! I’ve about had it!” She began scraping the waffle remains off both surfaces with a spatula and flinging them into a wastebasket. For once in my life I didn’t ask any questions, deeming it wiser to go back to playing with ...

“Carl G. Lytle cutting Holmes County Swiss Cheese in his general store in Fredericksburg, Ohio.” From the Cleveland Plain Dealer , August 5, 1963. You can disagree with me if you want to, but I believe if everyone everywhere could be raised in small towns, the world would be a better place. Having been raised in a small town myself, I am both an expert on this topic and completely unbiased. When I was a child, Mom told me our hometown, Fredericksburg, Ohio, had “about six hundred” residents. Well, she had it right: census data from 1970 shows there were 601 residents. That was the all-time high for the town (which dates back to 1850), though: the population has been steadily declining ever since. In 2020 the population was only 409. The Freedom to Roam When you lived in a small town in those days, you could walk or bike anywhere you needed to go without a parent. School, the general store, the post office, the bank, or down to the “crick,” it didn’t matter. Someone would be keepi...

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Yes, this is a true story, related as accurately as I can, considering that the events occurred thirty years ago. Have you ever heard the expression “There’s no education in the second kick of a mule”? According to this article , the saying “is a proverb meaning that one should have learned the lesson the first time. L. Mendel Rivers (1905–1970), a Democratic U.S. Representative from South Carolina, used the saying many times.” For some reason that aphorism comes to mind when I recall turning pages for Samuel Sanders as he accompanied the legendary violinist Itzhak Perlman at the Peace Center in January of 1994. I had already been kicked by the page-turner mule once, but when the house manager asked me if I wanted to do it again when Perlman came, I bent over and said, “Yeah! Kick me again!” If you’ve read my previous blog post, “ Adventures in Page Turning, Part 1 ,” you will know that in October of 1993 I had the privilege of turning pages for Emanuel Ax,...

My program from that evening, signed by Ma and Ax. AUTHOR’S NOTE: Yes, this is a true story, related as accurately as I can, considering that the events occurred thirty years ago. There I sat, alone—alone on stage at the Peace Center . Alone in front of a packed house—over 2000 people in attendance. And I wasn’t supposed to be there. You ever have a nightmare where you find yourself in public in your underwear? Yeah, well, this was kind of like one of those dreams. Except I was wearing a suit. How in the world did I end up here? My mind began to drift back . . . “That Would Be . . . Amazing!” Months back, at my interview for an usher position with the Peace Center, Gary, the House Manager, asked me why I wanted to be an usher. Part of my answer was that I loved music—I played the piano, sang in choir, loved classic Broadway musicals . . . Gary remembered those comments when an unusual need came up. “Hey, you read music, right?” “Yeah.” ...