Category: Whatever

I believe there are as many types of saints as there are souls to be saved. – Flannery O’Connor.  I’ve decided I’m stopping after this — writing pandemic essays — but I can’t promise. I suspect I’ll need to redirect my thoughts to the election in November. That’s a different column, and probably one that will never be written.

 John Prine is dead. I never met John, but I loved him. He wrote and sang Sam Stone, Hello in There, and Angel from Montgomery among many, many other songs. His voice wasn’t sweet, it was real. And lung cancer didn’t take his life, Covid did. When I learned he was in the ICU in Nashville with the virus, I’d check-in online to learn his status. I was awake and writing at 2 a.m. when a newsfeed lit my laptop screen to inform me that the “celebrated singer-songwriter” had passed. Prine died on April 7 when the moon was full, and pink, and super.

A pandemic isn’t a hurricane. We have water and electricity, internet and roads clear of fallen trees, but there is a sort of strange preparation for the unknown akin to a storm. It’s taken shape in bare store shelves, curtailment of entertainment, and news conferences by a governor and president buoyed by doctors, educators, lawyers, administrators, and in South Carolina, chaplains and signers.

Do you watch Pat Sajak and Vanna White on Wheel of Fortune? Is it part of your after-dinner routine squished between network news and Jeopardy with Alex Trebek? In a world of social media and streaming services, kids and young adults probably aren’t entrenched in guessing letters and solving puzzles, but I’ve been spinning for a long time.

Days are long, but years are short.  – Whitney Hansen             It’s that time of year; a time of endings and beginnings – again. I’ve been considering all sorts of ideas and directions over these holidays to include the actual definition of the word holiday. The Old English derivation means holy day. Along with the understanding of festivity and celebration, holidays can be an exemption from work, freedom to do what we want, and a time of relaxation. 

God’s time is always near. He set the North Star in the heavens; He gave me the strength in my limbs; He meant I should be free.       – Harriet Tubman to Ednah Dow Cheney, New York City, circa 1859             When Harrier Tubman died in 1913, she told the people in the room with her, “I go to prepare a place for you.” At this very moment in time, Beaufort is hard at work preparing a special place on Craven Street to remember and honor an American treasure.