“Here comes Nick,” I’d say, watching him work his way across the lawn in a slow, rolling gait.
You lay there, your mind returning to the pepper drawer, and think you will not eat a piece of chocolate after dinner, especially tonight on this dark moon day.
If you had asked me even a year before could I see myself living in the American South, I would have shaken my head.
I met Shirley and Ken Kenneally in 1981 when Cathi invited me to their home for a party. Although the house was set a good way in from the street, I could hear the music from the sidewalk.
Our nature cravings keep us on our toes, but as far as addictions go, I wouldn’t say this one is craven.