Blog

‘Tis the season to be jolly . . . unless it isn’t. Unless it isn’t because Grief has recently come to call and seems quite content to stay, at least for the foreseeable future.

I made a pretty big mistake this year. Actually, truth be known, I made a lot of mistakes this year. But this particular one was a doozie.

Everybody knew his daddy as “Cowboy” and his mama as “Grannie” which might help explain why Tommy Lewis was blessed with at least two nicknames, if not more.

For a good many people, the next few days will be filled with food and family. For a good many people, that’s already begun. We’ll stuff ourselves into oblivion, then look for the nearest nappable surface or television to watch whatever the big game of the day is.

There were many people who thought Jonathan Reed was on the verge of full-blown insanity, a presumption which seemed quite reasonable, given that he spent every day sitting in a mausoleum in Brooklyn’s Evergreens Cemetery.

This weekend my brain decided I wanted a cup of tea—hot tea with cream and sugar (or, in my case, International Delight Sweet Cream coffee creamer which easily takes the place of both). For me, the first step is putting the kettle on the stove (Mickey Mouse themed that sounds like a train whistle when the water’s boiling) and then going to the mug cabinet to select the one that best reflects my mood for the day.

Out of curiosity, I consulted Merriam-Webster (via my good friend Google) regarding the definition of the word “monument”. Of course, when I hear the word, I think of something that marks the final resting place of an individual or a couple or, in some instances, entire families.

When you walk through the doors of The Read House in Chattanooga, Tennessee, you may feel as though you’ve stepped back in time, the simple, quiet elegance speaking of days long since passed. And if you spend enough time there . . . and you listen carefully . . . you may also hear the echoing whispers of the spirits that many believe dwell within.