Yeah, I said Machu Picchu.

Saturday in Pittsburgh dawned beautiful; the day before the wedding was splendid in all its sunshine, cool breezes, and golden leaves.



The bride's family gathered in the lobby of the hotel to take advantage of its continental breakfast; we stood around each other, chatting, laughing, exchanging "how are yous," and chomping on muffins and bagels and drinking endless cups of hot tea and coffee. Some of us hadn't seen my sister-in-law's family since, well, since their wedding -- a lot of years ago.

*giggles*

The groom planned a day outing for the guys in the wedding weekend plans -- some kind of hike in the woods [vague] accompanied by Frisbee golf [more vague]. They gathered in the hotel parking lot and finagled how to move that many people from the hotel to the outskirts of Pittsburgh in a couple of rentals and one home town vehicle.

I followed them out to take the photo, but it's all I have from whatever it was that they did ---- Paul's girlfriend, Angie, tagged along to keep 'em all in check, plus, she can play a mean Frisbee.


The ladies congregated at the groom's house to put finishing touches on the decorations for the rehearsal dinner --- but since it was pretty much under control, my sister, the maid of honor [my niece], and I decided to do what was also needed to be done that day --- a trip to downtown Pittsburgh's REI to pick up sleeping bag liners, a gift from the bride's parents, for the honeymoon to Machu Picchu.

Machu Picchu?

Huh? Where? Really? Honeymoon?

Yep, that's what I said -- the bride and groom are both avid hikers, and this was their honeymoon destination.

Personally, no thermostat? No Harriett. It's a rule. I like room service, cabana boys, and showers and not necessarily in that order. :)

*shrugs*

Sleeping bag? Have they seen the snakes from South America in the "S" volume of the World Book Encyclopedia?

*runs and hides*

We three set out in my Volvo, with the Georgia tag --[ in case we needed to make crazy turns or change lanes with no warning], and through the "right lane closed, merge left" nonsense of Pittsburgh traffic, and armed with my niece's GPS, to find REI in downtown Pittsburgh.

The trip took us three hours.

*groans*

By the time we returned, the other ladies already had put the finishing touches on the decorations for the rehearsal dinner.

*wipes brow*

Done.

Check.

Sleeping bag liners handed off to Nora, the bride, we returned to the hotel to change for dinner. We caravaned over to the church for a lovely dinner, given by the Hinch family for a whole lot of people. Tribes, clans, herds, and packs --- we filled up the fellowship hall with the laughter and joy for the upcoming nuptials of Nora and Byran. We also ate some pretty fine Italian fare.

:)

David: " That's Bryan's last laugh before... [singing Queen's] Another one bites the dust."

The bride's tribe.....

Nora and Bryan...

aren't they adorable?

October's Last Lights

David, Keats, and Tallulah and I sat on the deck this afternoon and watched a flock of starlings move into the trees behind us. About thirty of them hung around in the trees, flitting about and making noises like thug birds.

Both Keats and Tallulah eyeballed them, perhaps hoping they would swoop down close enough for them to swipe at -- they are both de-clawed-- they can only dream.


As we sat there, I looked at the light --- these last days of October bring a different hue, perhaps a different slant -- a different color....


Meanwhile, Tallulah got tired of the light and decided to sniff after the tree frog that hangs out in the English ivy. She's got the attention span of a chipmunk.

I certainly have turned into a blogger of pictures, haven't I?

And they're off...

Nora, the bride, and Amy, the cousin and maid of honor, BEFORE dolling up for the Bachelor-ette Party...

David [the hairdresser] works on the bride's hair for her party.... {would you look at the equipment laid out on the bed? Geez....}

Nora and Amy, After...

Nora, brother Chapman, and Father of the Bride have a last minute conference in the hotel lobby. One last round of Angry Birds before the Bachelor-ettes take to the road?

*shrugs*

New England White

Written by Stephen L. Carter, New England White is the third work of fiction that I have read by the Yale University Law professor. I also read The Emperor of Ocean Park and Palace Council, and I wish I had stopped with those two.

Carter's a good writer, but right now, he limits himself to a certain type of novel, and I read these three all within the last year. What I found with New England White is that I felt like I had read it before and had just forgotten what happened -- that is how similar it was to his other two works.

Mea culpa.

I used to make it a rule not to do this -- not to read novels written by the same writer too close together, and I don't know why I subjected myself or judged Carter for my remiss, but I did. My mistake cheapened it for me, and instead of enjoying his wisdom, wit, and turn of phrase, I just found myself recognizing it and wishing for the lengthy novel to end.

Set in the university town of Elm Harbor, a professor's murder unearths a hidden secret of the town's past that interweaves with a prominent family with ties to Washington. Apparently, the murdered professor, Kellen Zant, had his hands on something that could "change the election."

At the center of the "past" is the university's president, Lemaster Carlyle, a man with far-reaching political connections, and his wife, Julia, who dated Zant years ago. When Julia attends Zant's funeral, a family member passes Julia a hand mirror that "Kellen wanted [her] to have" that leads her to determine, in an oddly cryptic way, that she holds the key to finding his murderer. As Julia puts the pieces together, she sees that what she's uncovering not only involves some "movers and shakers" but her own family.

I adored The Emperor of Ocean Park, but this one, not so much.

Wired up on Diet Coke

I knew this would happen if I stayed out after dark and had "drinks" on the patio with some former students at a smoky bar on Barrett Parkway.

Initiated a couple of weeks ago through email, these three fine young people invited me to play Team Trivia with them cause they were "good" but were sure that my added knowledge would make them better. LOL

I told them that my brain had atrophied from lack of use and that I would probably know none of the answers -- I actually Hoover at trivia -- I mean, they don't call it trivia as a synonym for knowledge, you know?

*laughs at own pun*

Anyway, I arrived first at the Team Trivia location, opened the door, and the haze of cigarette smoke met me. I made it about three feet around to the front of the bar where a couple of geezers checked me out -- I felt like it was the 80s but not -- and then I did a 180 and immediately returned to the front where I called Amanda on her cell phone.

Me: Amanda? I'm already here. Where are you? Was this a joke? Are you setting me up? Getting back at me for those comments on your essays circa 2003?
Amanda: I'm coming across the parking lot now.
Me: I'm thinking that -- well, I'm thinking that we won't be able to breathe in this dive much less answer trivia questions about Pokemon or Joe Dimaggo's batting average in 1955.
Amanda: I'm coming. I'm coming.

We waited outside for Jeff and Alex who were meeting us there, and we decided we could handle playing Trivia if we could sit on the patio. The waitress assured us that we could, so we settled around a black wrought iron table and chairs and immediately began laughing and catching up on each other's lives.

I summed mine up for them: "I am worthless. Now tell me about you."

Alex and Amanda are both in graduate school -- Alex in some kind of engineering -- bio-something-- *yawns* -- something I didn't want to hear about rats and microscopes -- and Amanda in International Studies.

Jeff has a Masters and teaches high school history.

They made me so proud -- these 2003 graduates of Gillham Academy-- all grown up in so many ways -- and still so young in others.

We talked about politics and faith.
We commiserated.
We told stories, most of them funny -- Jeff's falling down a waterfall, Alex's being grilled by a girl from Iowa about the difference between a Haunted House and a Judgment House since he was "Southern Baptist," and Amanda's camp out from the night before.

We reminisced.

Alex: You acted like you really liked me when I was in high school. Was that true?
Me: No. I acted like I liked all my students.
Alex: Wait? Have I been insulted?
Me: Jeff, do you like all your students?
Jeff: Nope.
Alex: So, did you or did you not like me?
Amanda: [giggles]
Me: You were all right.

And what happened with Trivia? Well, the waitress didn't realize that we needed access to a television screen [which were only inside], so we never played.

If we had, I'm sure we would have dominated since the place was not packed with competition.

In fact, I heard the answer to one of the questions when I went to the restroom -- it was Bruce Springsteen and "Dancing in the Dark." I thought, I know of him and that song -- I could have at least answered that one. Of course, I don't know what the question was... I just recognized the answer.

*shrugs*

Meanwhile, we sat on the patio, Alex sipped his sweet tea, Jeff his Coke, and Amanda and I our Diets, and now I'm wired like an AM radio.

So I blogged.

I loved these kids when I taught them; I love them now -- they have only become better with age... no peaking in high school for them.

They have turned out "all right."

And that last line is such an inside joke that I shouldn't have blogged it, but I did.

Alex, Jeff, and Amanda -- this blog [is] for you.

Autumn. *sigh*

On the deck of our house in the North Georgia mountains, Tallulah takes it easy .....

... stares at me through the screen on the porch...

....and plays peek-a-boo through the windsock....

...the leaves seem to turn slowly this year...

...even though the early evening sun brightens the color of this one...

...but the cool afternoons and evenings on the porch is my favorite part of Autumn.

*sigh*

[my current reading choice of New England White by Stephen L. Carter, my journal, a favorite fountain pen, candles, and a small glass of wine]

Images from Sunday, October 17, 2010, Lakemont, Georgia.

:)

Traveling America’s Highways, Southeastern States Style

I told David [after we drove to Jackson Hole, Wyoming, from Denver, Colorado) that the way to understand the vastness and varied beauty of this country is to drive it. I still stand by that opinion. The problem is -- it’s hard to drive long distances when you get old.

I am crankier, stiffer, and more tired, and the pulling of suitcases from the trunk hurts the back and the stuffing of dirty laundry into plastic bags is a nuisance. I need to travel with one duffel -- not two suitcases, hanging clothes, book bag, food bag, lap top, and duffel.

*sweats*



I will have a whole blog dedicated to my bright, only not, idea of packing two of the pillows from our home bed -- “since we were gonna be gone a week and laying our heads on perhaps, sketchy, pillows and pillowcases.”

*raises puny fist at dumb self*

When I know I have a car to put all my stuff in, I pack heavy --- three kinds of coats, a bag of apples, granola bars, dried fruit, and peanut butter crackers (like you can’t get that anywhere), and enough books for me to be stranded somewhere on the side of the road without possibility of rescue.

I also make playlists for my I-Pod.... like fifteen of them. Hello.

I am some kind of pack monster.

Regardless of my bad packing skills, the trip to and from Pennsylvania was a beautiful one -- the time of year and the gorgeous weather was just a complement to the drive. I couldn’t believe how blessed we were!!!!

As typical of my character, I commentated, expostulated, and noted all kinds of things along the road. David, however, was in his driving coma. Intent on the road, he rarely took in the view. .. unless it was a car, or once he commented randomly out loud about a compressor he was gonna buy when he returned to Atlanta.

Huh?

Otherwise, I was navigator, tour guide, and comedian… not that there was anyone near by with a sense of humor.

On the way to Pittsburgh, we took I 75 north (where a truck gave us our windshield crack), I-40 east, I-81 north , I-77 north, and to I-79 north into Pittsburgh, PA, home of “Welcome to 65 mph” and “right lane closed -- merge left” and traffic delays up to 45 minutes.

Welcome to Pittsburgh.

Whatever.

Pittsburgh killed our driving buzz with its stimulus of repairing on weekend days all main roads in and out of town. No one complained louder than we Atlantans, who understand the frustration of traffic, and, of course, the native Pittsburghers. They nodded in agreement when I said to one, “What the heck is with your DOT”?

Argh.

That particular route of America that we drove north to Pittsburgh, I had not seen passed a sweet little town in West Virginia called Bluefield, where one of my dear college friends was from, and I had visited twice.

It was all new to David --- not that he noticed.

He was too busy trying to determine if he was gonna go 5 or 10 miles over the speed limit. If you asked my nephew-in-law, also named David, who followed my David out of Gettysburg, he would say “20 miles” over, but we’re not asking him, and my David would deny it.

Aside: LOL at self for ---- “followed out of Gettysburg” ---- like he was Robert E. Lee.

When we were sitting in a restaurant off the Interstate, I saw two, state troopers enjoying their lunch. I wanted to go to their table, and over their green beans, thank them for being in the restaurant and not on the highway, but David said, “not funny.” In fact, David made many, frowny faces when I said “ it’s funny to me.“

*shrugs*

We drove through tunnels, paid tolls, rode on turnpikes, and hit two laners. We saw mountains galore, crossed big bodies of water, and saw postcard scenes of cattle, barns, silos, and verdant green rolling hills of pasture land.



We got gas at Turkey Hill and Sheetz Stop and Go -- we ate at Cross Keys Diner and Miller’s Smorgasbord - -- and we could have toured the Round Barn of Terror or the Haunted Hayloft.

Bottom line -- the sights and sounds of the Interstate are mostly varied and interesting -- if you look; if you don’t, then it’s…. well, then it’s something else -- a chore.

As my friend Laura says, “David is a destination man -- not a journeyer.”

I think I may be both. I like the journey. I like the destination.

Amazing how traveling a thousand miles from home showed me how different yet so much the same we Americans are. We look alike, act alike, eat alike, and drive alike -- and we drive the Interstates.

As we did all of these miles, I thought of how we have been gifted with this freedom of the road -- to explore, to venture out, to leave one place for another. I can’t imagine being somewhere where suspicion reigned or laws interfered with this freedom.

Do we appreciate this freedom? Thank God for it? Or do we just take it for granted as we gas up our cars, pack our trunks, and plan our merry adventures?

Just askin'.

Random photos from a foreign land..

Lots of Pennsylvania prettiness like this --- sky, road, trees, and, of course, windshield bullet hole.

Pennsylvania loves a biker. Just sayin'.
And.... there doesn't seem to be a helmet law -- no wonder these folks say "Stillers."

What would Ben Franklin think?

Bridges. All kinds. All colors. Must be all those engineers, put out by Carnegie Mellon.
Seriously, I said to David a lot of times, "Look at that bridge."
David: "Seen one. Seen them all."

*rolls eyes*

The car that David would rather look at than listen to me.
It's a 356 Porshe.
And...

"They called it the tub."

Just in case, you are on Jeopardy.

Road trivia from David.

BTW:

I've got lots of blogging material.

I know you guys are holding your breath.

*holds*

Night. Night.
I'm in Amish country -- truly, worlds have collided.

I mean SMASH.

Crack! The Windshield Kind

David and I were fifty miles up I-75 from home when one of those thousand trucks that are on the Interstate, riding in the left lane (which I am pretty sure is against the law)and hauling stuff, usually hidden under tarps, also suspect, threw up a rock and made a crack in the windshield of my car on the passenger side where I was sitting.

Thwack!

I looked about for a wild, out of control Yankee with a gun, headed home [who knew we were traveling his way].... but nope -- it must have been one of those sixteen wheelers hauling nineteen thousand Dixie cups, or Quik Fix concrete, or canned peaches.

Harrumph.

We will travel a couple thousand miles with a a quarter sized hole right above eye level on the windshield passenger side front.

Ominous? You decide as I shall blog ....

I have to admit that a couple of hours after the THWACK on the windshield -- I drew some comfort from dinner at the Cracker Barrel in Knoxville, TN, where I consumed two biscuits and gravy and mash potatoes... amazing what lard will make you forget ---

I think it could be called "hardening of the arteries."

With our cracked windshield, we're gonna show these Pittsburgh thugs what an Atlanta thug looks like -- riding up here in our car, bullet holed and bug splattered.

Did you know "thug" came from the Hindu?

BTW: Don't people pay money for fake bullet holes that can be adhered to the car -- to make yo ride look --- like you have been in a gun fight?

*scratches head*

I remember how much I hated those stuffed Garfields, spread eagle and plastered with little suction cups on a window of the car -

I think it was because I hated Garfield -- and really never saw the humor in the comic strip. Was he funny? Or just lame?

Just not funny to me -- maybe bullet holes would be funnier? Except not.

Anyway, David and I are now officially thuggish.

Did you know that people from Pittsburgh do not say "Steelers"? They love their "Stillers." I ask one lady at the rehearsal dinner if that was a "professional" football team? I thought she was gonna toss her Italian sausage at me.

Ha. I'm no Yinzer.

[you'll need to look that up in your Pittsburghese.....]

Back to the first part of the trip:

I usually read when David and I take a car trip, but when we go somewhere new, like we are all this trip, I feel the need to have a running commentary.

David doesn't need it.

Just sayin'.

BTW: I have this TripTik from Triple A, which, let me go on record to say, does not necessarily hire the sharpest people, of the three who apply, to put together these Triptiks maps for their AAA members (not AA, junk heads). I dealt with Triple A on three different occasions by phone, each time getting another flunkie, and they still didn't do what all I needed or get it correct.

Geesh.

For example, there is a Francine (last name left off to protect the innocent/unknown) who was traveling to Bridgeport, Connecticut, from her happy abode in Atlanta, whose TripTik I found in the middle of my own.

So, my TripTik begins in Marietta, but when it directs me to Knoxville, I turn the page, and then the map says, "beginning from Columns Drive prepared for sterling Triple AA member Francine" to Bridgeport, Connecticut. I follow Francine's trip to Bridgeport, and then I turn the page, and I'm back in Knoxville.

Dumb dweebs. Geez. You can't make this kind of stuff up....

I should have stuck with my folded map of the Southeastern United States, put out by the Interstate system.

Poor Francine -- still sitting on Columns Drive waiting on her TripTik.

Sorry, Francine, about your TripTik -- I didn't know that yours was in the middle of mine till I was already on my way... for Triple A, you just need to pay for the road service.

David: You need to call corporate about those yahoos at Triple A.
Me: You call them. I find that the automated numbers I get on those type of phone calls usually leads me to someone who didn't make the "A" team.

So....

I kept a running commentary for David on what I was seeing off and on the interstate. I am particularly fascinated by what tractor trailers haul.

Coffee in tankers.
Tires for Humvees on Jupiter.
Pipes for the Alaskan pipe line.
The chassis for a ferris wheel.

They haul some big as well as random stuff.

Joe: I need fourteen thousand gallons of maple syrup, pronto.
Trucker: I'm on my way -- after I kick some rocks at some windshields.

David is fairly uninterested in my commentary. He only points at cars on the road that he could afford if he married, you know, wealthy.

He finds me distracting and boring. *shrugs*

He told me to be quiet a couple of times. *wth?*

I couldn’t figure out why…. I mean why wouldn’t you want to know that we just passed a Kia with one of those magnetic signs that said, “Hypnosis Works” ? I didn't look at the driver, you know, in case he was swinging his pocket watch at me from his window.

David said if I could snap my fingers and make you bark... then it might be interesting.

*bow wow*

That's all I got.

ETA: I wrote part of this blog on 10/07/10 -- but I've been so busy....

Smacked in the Head at Off Broadway!

That sounds a little like a headline, doesn't it?

I went by Off Broadway Shoes to return a pair, and while I waited for the clerk to do the paper work, I looked at a purse on one of those portable, metal racks that has hooks on it to hang merchandise. The purse, ugly in its gangsta chrome, gold, big swash-buckles, squishy, squeaky faux leather, was, I was sure, overpriced.

So, I reached up to check the price, and the whole thing toppled, smacking me right between the eyes.

Thunk!

Ouch. I mean, ow, ow, ow, ow, ow.

When I think of the whacks people take to the head in the movies or the many wallops Coyote took in the Road Runner cartoons, I can't imagine what a smack to the head would feel like that actually knocks me unconscious.

Geez. My head ached all day -- seriously? People get up from them -- and chase the bad guys? I don't think so....

The clerk at Off Broadway fussed over me a little like she thought I might sue, but what would I do with all those purple blingy or fuzzy boots?

Today, I am fine, but .....

What if I had a huge bruise on my forehead for my niece's wedding?

I could hear my niece in a few years telling her children as she pointed to a picture from her wedding day: "That's great Aunt Harriett with the blue forehead -- she said that she got injured in a shoe store," *rolls eyes* but we don't know the real story. We never know with her." *shakes head at Great Aunt Harriett's foolishness....*

The Smacked in the Head at Off Broadway story was just a lead to let all my blog readers *rolls eyes* know that David and I are hitting the road on Thursday for a week -- we shall attend my niece's wedding in Pittsburgh on Sunday and then my brother, my sister-in-law, other niece and her husband will do a short little vacation together. This is not the niece that's getting married -- cause what kind of honeymoon would that be with us tagging along? I mean, we are fun, and I am handy in a card game, but... well.... never mind.

I shall take my laptop along -- just in case the Russians invade, the Martians land, or Jason and Elizabeth get back together.

*shrugs*

I might just have some stories from the road, or the wedding, or THE FAMILY.

Muah.

BTW: The purse was 39.90. In case, you know, you're like interested.



Just in case, you missed these.

The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters

If Mark Twain had written his sequel to The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, as in Huck heads out to the Western territory, it might have read like the novel I just finished -- The Travels of Jaimie McPheeters by Robert Lewis Taylor.

I had never heard of this novel, even though it was a 1959 Pulitzer Prize winner for fiction and apparently was made into short-lived television series, which I missed as well.

Totally aimed at an adult audience, Taylor alternates the narration from the point of view of Jaimie, who is thirteen, and his dreamer of a dad’s journals that he kept on the trip and letters he wrote to his wife Melissa, which he signed Sardius McPheeters (M.D., Univ. Edinburgh).

Beginning in Louisville, Kentucky, in March of 1849, Sardius McPheeters, owing creditors and disliking his life as a doctor, dreams of striking out for California and panning for gold. A natural eavesdropper, Jaimie overhears the discussion between his mother and father about the possibility of the trip and “opportunity,” and much to his liking, when his mother questions Jaimie’s being left without a father during these important years, his father says, “why -- I’ll take him with me.”

Thus begins the “travels” of Jaimie and his father cross country to try their hand at prospecting in California.

No wonder this book sold a million copies in 1958 --- it’s a page turner and hilarious. Like Twain, Taylor pokes fun at all in this novel --- fur trappers, East coast judges, the Mormons, Native Americans, religion, democracy, marriage -- but the cast of characters that Taylor brings alive in this book rival Jim, or Tom, or even the Duke and the Dalphin of Huck Finn fame.

The book is not for the young --- Taylor’s descriptions of the scoundrels, drunkards, and other misfits that Jaimie meets holds nothing back, and, in particular, he vividly tells of the “rites of passage” of a variety of Native American tribes -- in fact, I had to skim some of it as there was too much of a realistic brutality to it -- and trust me, I still got the gist of it.

I loved, however, Jaimie as narrator, as he reminded me so much of Huck Finn. As objective narrator, but an innocent one, Jamie tries to report what he has seen, and in that process makes some rather humorous sometimes hilarious comments as in this one about his running into Black Podee, one of the “big chiefs” in Nebraska:

The [Indian] name rang a bell. It was unusual for an Indian, because they mainly depend for their names on some kind of description, like the activities of animals. Many Indian names are so forthright they never get into books. On the other hand, they don’t have any curse words; there isn’t anything in the Indians’ language like the profanity in ours. It’s a defect, and has slowed them up in dealing with the higher civilization.

.....or this comment from his dad about a particularly “dim” woman : "A woman on that level of intellect should be boiled down for glue."

There were lines, descriptions, and characters who made me laugh out loud --- a subtlety of humor that was so refreshing to read.

Like Huck Finn, Jaimie could also be wise ---as he and his dad took leave of a family who had been good to them in California, Jamie tells that“ I hurt inside. Another part of our adventure was over, and even then, I realized that nothing ever comes back again quite the same. Things roll on, new sights take the place of the old, and the only way you can do it over is remember.”

Taylor’s a superior storyteller --- and this is a great book for a trip -- or for a long, cool weekend in the mountains. :)

"It was very good..."

Keats knows ...

Tallulah too...

how good outside is.....

"God saw all that he had made, and it was very good."

Genesis 1:31.

:)

ETA: I just can't shut up about today. It is that good.

"On a golden autumn day..."

Wind chimes tingling and clinking.

Cross breeze passing through the house.

Cats sitting in the window.

Soup simmering on the stove.

Pumpkin sitting on the porch.

Autumn. Glorious autumn. God’s reminder to us of the passage of time --

As I awoke this am at daybreak, my windows raised for the cool of the night, I shivered as I moved about -- a good kind of cool -- the kind that makes me slip on a long-sleeved shirt and cup instead of hold my steaming cup of coffee.

I stepped outside, still barefooted, enjoying the freshness of the day and being thankful that I can embrace it instead of heading to a school building where the day is hidden behind concrete walls and small windows. I love the freedom of having the whole day ahead of me to bask in its perfectness.

When its cool, I resurface, emerge from the cocoon of my temperature controlled car and house. I stretch, I roll back the sun-roof, I sit outside for lunch, I smile, and I swoon under its beauty.

That’s what I do when a day like this, a week like this comes -- "I'm pretending it's paradise/on a golden autumn day."




*tee hee*

I just posted my first video on my blog.
It only took me a year.

*high fives self*

Another Look at Hemingway

For all my former students, I thought you might enjoy a visit with an old friend -- Hemingway.

Glynn, at F, F, F, read Hemingway, and he didn't have to.

*twirls*

BTW: This blogger is a such a good writer --- I bet, maybe, just maybe, he's got an English teacher out there he'd like to thank.

Or not. :)



Faith, Fiction, Friends: Hemingway, a bookstore, a medieval church, and a t...: "I read Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast recently, his memoir of the Paris literary scene in the 1920s. The book was published in 1964 aft..."