O Mighty Crisis Stories

My Buddy 23

My Buddy

A friend is someone who knows the song in your heart and can sing it back to you when you have forgotten the words. – Bernard Meltzer One of my best friends is turning 9 today. He is a character–funny, perceptive, bullheaded, complicated. He is a reader; tests reported that...

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Armistead Maupin Preferred the Shelter of Fiction, But With That Attitude He’d Have Been Dead By Midnight If He Lived in Northern Minnesota 14

Armistead Maupin Preferred the Shelter of Fiction, But With That Attitude He’d Have Been Dead By Midnight If He Lived in Northern Minnesota

Probably because the weather has been so forbidding this week–damn cold and unbelievably blustery–we’ve been delighting in indoor pursuits. The grey and the dark and the blow-the-pants-right-off-your-legs wind outside all highlight the beauty of food, conversation, warmth, shelter, reminding us how fortunate we are to have relief from the elements....

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I Went to Weight Watchers and Refused to Do The Wave 36

I Went to Weight Watchers and Refused to Do The Wave

When the tide is working its way towards the shore, it doesn’t just rush in, plop onto the sectional couch, and dig in to a plate of nachos. Rather, it flows in stirringly, breaches the sandy banks, and then recedes. As the water retreats centrifugally, giving in to gravity and...

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A Bracelet of Barbie Hands for Everyone! 17

A Bracelet of Barbie Hands for Everyone!

“I am haunted by waters,” ends Norman Maclean’s lyrical novella A River Runs Through It. The word “haunted,” as Maclean intends it, is not so much “plaguing my nightmares”—in the fashion of John Lithgow’s serial killer turn on Dexter, where he plants a victim on the outside edge of a...

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Girl, Discovered 22

Girl, Discovered

Effortlessly, they became her best friends. In a year nearly free of peer interactions, she needed them. In a year of new and strange and awkward, she needed to feel less alone. And they were there. Amber and Mollie and Madison and Abby and Arriana and Madison and Alyssa and...

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Notes of a Memory 19

Notes of a Memory

I was traveling a trip to Ireland when all I wanted to do was stay home with A Guy whom, it turned out, had no space for me yet it would take him some time to inform me of this fact At the time I hung My Everything on him...

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Don’t Be That Guy 18

Don’t Be That Guy

A few years ago, on a frigid winter’s day, I went out for a run on Duluth’s paved exercise trail, The Lakewalk.  This trail is wide enough for foot and bike traffic to coexist–although it gets considerably narrower after months of snowfall, when snow-clearing machines have cut a line down...

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Himself Pleases This Mass 18

Himself Pleases This Mass

Much of this blog has been a love letter to Groom. Himself. Byron. I’ve felt lately, more than ever, that the blogging conceit of pseudonyms can be fairly tiring.  Anyhow, so,  yea.  He’s Byron.  Most of you knew that already. If not, here’s your pneumonic device.  Byron.  As in, Lord...

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If These Old Walls Could Speak 23

If These Old Walls Could Speak

It is easier to love humanity as a whole than to love one’s neighbor–Eric Hoffer For years, I watched her wandering the city, talking to herself, hugging her clutch of plastic bags to her chest defensively, avoiding eye contact, wearing dirty and mismatched clothes–her entire being an illustration of unchecked...

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