There was no sane reason for me to run for Congress, but 1970 was an insane year — and when one is young, all things seem possible.
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Barbecuing the Hog
A political rookie hits the campaign trail
Essays
Close Call
Second-prize winner in the Tennessee True Stories Essay Contest
Metal buckets evoke a feeling in me that’s hard to shake. Whenever I see one, a memory comes rushing back.
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Grasshopper
First-prize winner in the Tennessee True Stories Essay Contest
James was the only person I’d talked to in the first week of moving to Nashville, outside of my husband and the local coffee shop guy. We would be spending many hours together, just the two of us in this little car. I wanted him to like me.
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Piano Lessons
When is a piano not a piano?
For years, I imagined how much fuller my life would be if I could strike up a tune at a party, if I had the secret knowledge of music that every one of my friends seemed to have acquired. I felt that something was missing, something that made me a bit inferior to everyone I knew.
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There’s No Place Like Home
On the particular joy of visiting a beloved author’s house
I am drawn to the homes of famous writers like a wayfaring pilgrim on a lifelong literary crusade. Somehow, I manage to talk my patient husband into going along for the ride. But he doesn’t really mind. He has seen what these nerdy excursions mean to me.
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The Gift of the Magis
I wanted a bike — I got a chair
I knew what it was instantly. Even shrouded beneath a bedsheet, the shape was undisguisable.
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