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Night Blind: Earthy Etta James and the Roots Band at Whiting
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2008/04/earthy-etta-james-and-roots-band-at.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Saturday, April 05, 2008. Earthy Etta James and the Roots Band at Whiting. My husband, riding the high of recovery from an attack of the flu that's been plaguing us all, said, "Etta doesn't have the bawdy she used to." He gets points for this clever remark. But I think her bawdiness, expressed from that creaky body and the still amazing voice, is astonishing. PPS Where was the Flint Journal review of this performance? Rest in Peace Etta! View my complete profile. Jan Wo...
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: November 2010
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2010_11_01_archive.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Saturday, November 27, 2010. On the 100th Anniversary of My Mother's Birth, I Take on the 100 Thing Challenge. In My Junk Drawer. Here's my December column for East Village Magazine, examining the archeological dig that is my junk drawer:. A few years back a guy named Dave Bruno had had it with consumerism and decided to reduce his personal possessions to 100 things. He blogged about it and started a worldwide movement, The 100 Thing Challenge. The cats stared back sadly.
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: Freedom
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/freedom.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Sunday, April 24, 2011. I've occasionally thought that my indirections and inward-looking observations make ripe fruit for parody. I could parody my writing myself, before some young wag beats me to it. Not that there are many young wags left in Flint who'd notice. Michael Jordon was cut from his freshman basketball team. Hang in there! Thanks, T. Roger! Thank you, AquaJane. Your comments - on this post and the other one - mean a lot to me! Du lich chau au. Subscribe to...
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: May 2011
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2011_05_01_archive.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Monday, May 02, 2011. Remembering Hazel Dickens at Flint. Here's my new column for East Village Magazine:. This week I remembered a thrilling Flint moment. It was March 22, 1990, and in the UM-Flint Theater, bluegrass singer Hazel Dickens stood in a spotlight on the stage and sang her powerhouse elegy. Black lung, black lung, you're just biding your time. Soon all this suffering I'll leave behind. But I can't help but wonder what God had in mind. It was a hell of a show.
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: May 2013
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2013_05_01_archive.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Sunday, May 05, 2013. Eating Papaya at My Writing Table. Oh lord, there comes the first husband, and the dying parents, and that day in Ohio, one of a thousand days of grief, guilt and sorrow. Back to The Moment, please. See how beautiful is that silver spoon. Yes, evidence of bygone elegance, something of loveliness and pleasure after all those other stories, to the contrary. The why of my persistent desire. The Moment will not stay put. The gentle, ripe papaya with bl...
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: I Couldn't Kill the Spider: Remembering 9/11
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2011/09/i-couldnt-kill-spider-remembering-911.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Tuesday, September 06, 2011. I Couldn't Kill the Spider: Remembering 9/11. Oh my, it's been months since I've been here - I've neglected poor Macy Swain and her electronic life. Well, here I am, slipping back into the blog life, and the occasion is remembering 9/11. This is also available on eastvillagemagazine.org. I couldn’t kill the spider. It was pea-sized and black and crawling over the black and white tiles of my Sylvester Manor apartment. This time was different.
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: April 2011
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2011_04_01_archive.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Sunday, April 24, 2011. I've occasionally thought that my indirections and inward-looking observations make ripe fruit for parody. I could parody my writing myself, before some young wag beats me to it. Not that there are many young wags left in Flint who'd notice. Links to this post. Tuesday, April 12, 2011. This is where I used to. Walking into the Rec Center last night in the grace of 6 pm April daylight, I looked up at the edifice of the Harding Mott building and th...
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: Remembering Hazel Dickens at Flint
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2011/05/remembering-hazel-dickens-at-flint.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Monday, May 02, 2011. Remembering Hazel Dickens at Flint. Here's my new column for East Village Magazine:. This week I remembered a thrilling Flint moment. It was March 22, 1990, and in the UM-Flint Theater, bluegrass singer Hazel Dickens stood in a spotlight on the stage and sang her powerhouse elegy. Black lung, black lung, you're just biding your time. Soon all this suffering I'll leave behind. But I can't help but wonder what God had in mind. It was a hell of a show.
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: Affirming
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2013/05/a-sunny-sunday-morning.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Sunday, May 05, 2013. A sunny Sunday morning. Backdrop of robins and wrens, chattering and eliding, crisscrossed arias from the tops of maples. Solitude in the house where sunbeams nudge away doldrums. Almost forgot how to get started. It is curious how a woman who has always limned herself "writer," would resist this actual moment, the moment of sitting down. Opening up. Typing the first words. Turning inward. Stay tuned. This feels good. View my complete profile.
nightblindblog.blogspot.com
Night Blind: This is where I used to...
http://nightblindblog.blogspot.com/2011/04/this-is-where-i-used-to.html
Rough Drafts from a Writer's Life. Tuesday, April 12, 2011. This is where I used to. A peril of being in a place for a long time.one of my themes, day after day.is this odd sense of needing meaning from the architectures I've inhabited year after year. There's a displacement, a recurring mild angst I've been feeling lately when I walk by a place and I think, "my God, I've been walking by this for 30 years.". Is it "in" me after all these years? Ah, thus it is, isn't it? I felt something akin to happiness...
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