Part of my morning ritual right now is chipping away at Jimmy Webb’s book, Tunesmith, which is about the art and process of song writing. Webb is one of my favorites. In the chapter, “It’s Only Words,” he talks about the songwriter’s task, different than most any other written art form is “technological haiku,” being…

Part of what makes working in a restaurant kitchen interesting is you never really know who is coming for dinner and when they are planning to come. At the Durham restaurant we take reservations, so we do know the answer a good bit of the time, yet last Sunday night we had reservations for forty…

When I first met Pete Cernoia, he was a mailman. No, that’s what he did for a job. Let me start again. From the first moment I met Pete Cernoia I was glad I knew him. We shared a common love of music and guitar playing, as well as rather skewed senses of humor, but…

to a member of Congresswho yells, “You lie” at ourPresident, like a drunk fanyelling at a referee, or a pastor who spews hatefrom his pulpit, wishingour President would diea natural death because, “We don’t need anotherholiday.” The commentsare connected acrossour continent by one thing, one thread, oneugly truth that is hardto call out by name:they…

I still remember the Christmas morning when, after unwrapping most of our gifts, my mother pointed to two cards stuck on the tree, one with my brother’s name on it and one with mine. A string ran from each card, leading us in different directions all over our house until we came to find our…

A week or so ago we did some catching up on our movies and finally saw The Visitor, an amazing and well-told story captured and the intersection of privilege and despair. I would tell you to stop and go watch it now, but I want you to read. So, finish reading and then go watch…

The last three weeks have been a bit of a blur for me. The restaurant at Duke reopened with the new semester and there were still things to do at the Durham restaurant beyond my usual responsibilities, leaving me with one day off in the last twenty or so days until today. Things have gone…

My friend David Gentiles posted an old Don McLean song on his blog today. That and my continued listening to Randy Newman’s Harps and Angels sent me on a little musical journey of my own this evening. And so, I offer a sampling of some of my favorite aging songwriters and some of their best…

We have a new dishwasher at the restaurant at Duke. His name is Arnaldo and he is from Cuba. He is about my height and, I’m guessing not much over half my weight. His skin is dark – ebony – and yet luminous enough to let you see the lines worn into his skin by…

I wish there were some wayto cut a small slit in the walland let the air, trapped sincefirst construction, spill intothe room and tell its stories. I wonder who walked thesefloors in those first days,when the pin oak at the curbwas smaller than the houseand the street not so shaded. I welcome those ghosts,the spirits…