RIP, great Meadowlark. You inhabit one of my favorite childhood memories. This, from a story I wrote for Mountain Xpress in Asheville, when I was working there back in 2001: An 8-year-old kid gapes from the stands as the great George “Meadowlark” Lemon stomps over courtside to hurl a bucket of water on the ref — …
Never risk listening to those aching songs you love on nights when you’re too tired to breathe without hearing your own breath admitting how little breath you have left ahead of you compared to how much exhaling has already come and gone. Nostalgia, yes. To wit: “How many a year has passed and gone / …
<Thanks, Joe, for the post title.> Late yesterday afternoon, I hoofed it the couple of miles through our eastern North Carolina version of bitter cold, gloved hands and big coat, double socks and damn me for failing to wear a hat, to the local post office, a pre-stamped packet in hand. In my back pocket, a …