I’m taking the blog on the road this weekend. One of our reasons for moving south was to be closer to Ginger’s parents in Birmingham. Her dad has Alzheimer’s and her mom has her hands full. They also have Lola and Gracie, our Schnauzers, who making things
The path from the restaurant to my car leads me across the heart of Duke’s West Campus five nights a week. Most of the time, not too many folks are out walking when I am, but tonight the Quad was rather well populated with students all standing and facing
As I was driving to work yesterday, I called Chef because I had a couple of questions. We talked about some of the changes I’ve been making at the restaurant at Duke, and I got to tell her I noticed the check average had gone up a dollar, which
You will write about the sermon, right? Maybe on Monday? What it was like to mount the pulpit once again. How long has it been? (Gordon, in a comment on my blog) The last time I preached was October 1, 2006. It was World Communion Sunday, the fifth anniversary of
Genesis 12:1-4; John 3:1-17 A Sermon for Pilgrim United Church of Christ, Durham It’s written matter of factly in our scripture passage this morning: “Now the LORD said to Abram, "Go from your country and your kindred and your father’s house to the
Curious George has gone to Africa. Sorry. I couldn’t resist. Bush is making a whirlwind tour of The Largely Ignored Continent, visiting countries not in crisis where he can point to what he has done to help them. Yes, my cynical sap is definitely rising. Kofi Annan has been
In getting to preach this Sunday, since Ginger is away on our church’s women’s retreat, I’ve been thinking about Abram and Nicodemus, the two stars of the lectionary readings this week, and tonight that’s led me to thinking about invitations. As one who grew up Southern
from the beginning, I suppose the point of Lent was to do something, or do without, for forty days – but when they started counting, they skipped the Sundays (“Little Easters”) so folks could catch their collective breaths, or find forgiveness, or just rest. I knew one person who called Sundays
I had no idea who Barbara Crooker was until a few days ago and now she’s made The Writer’s Almanac twice in the span of a week and her poetry is speaking to me. Here’s the one from yesterday: In The Middle About a week into Lent
I don’t really understand surly. I get depression because I live with it, but surly – the toxic kind -- is a different matter. The two servers who worked tonight, mother and daughter, make a good case for toxic surliness as a psychiatric diagnosis, again, in the same way I needed
It’s far later into the night than I intended to have to stay up to complete my daily practice. The thoughts running through my head are not original; in fact, all I can hear are borrowed words. There’s Barbara Crooker’s poem, “All That Is Glorious Around Us,
I don’t know where Duke students go on Sunday night, but it’s not to our restaurant. Kyle tells me they realize at some point on Sunday afternoon that they have been partying all weekend and they have class in the morning. Whatever the reason, Ramon and I had