The Phone Call
Margie answered her phone. “Hello?”
“Hello?” said a girl’s voice. “Someone told me your husband worked on old cars?”
Sean Dietrich
The Queen of Savannah
Tonight, we walk the streets of Savannah with royalty. Traffic does not part when she walks by. Her unwitting subjects, trudging along the sidewalks, do not pay her a genuflecting glance. When they see her, they do not even recognize her sacred station. But they smile just the same. For one cannot help but smile at royalty.
Some Good: A few friends you might like
The old dog was found walking on the highway. She had no name. No home. Nobody.
The guy who found her was a guy we’ll call Peter. I call him this because this is his name.
The Woman Who Tried to Die
It happened in Washington, the Evergreen State. It was late. There was a woman about to kill herself. She was young. Standing on the ledge of an overpass. Holding a stuffed animal. Hair blowing in all directions. She was really going to do it.
America’s Future
I knew something was wrong when we walked into our hotel room. Namely, because our toilet had blinking lights.
I called the front desk.
“Hello. There’s something wrong with my toilet.”
“What’s wrong, sir?”
“There are lights on it.”
Uncle Sam’s Children
I was late for a plane when I saw him. The freckled kid was in uniform. Operational camouflage combat fatigues. Reverse-flag patch on the right shoulder. High and tight haircut.
Oxford, Alabama
Four guys. Four ordinary guys. Our band arrived at the Oxford Performing Arts Center theater early for soundcheck.
The theater production crew was waiting for us. The soundmen were huddled onstage for a pre-show briefing. The ushers were looking over seating charts. The ladies in the ticket booth were smiling. The beverage vendors were icing down the Mick Ultra.
Of Life and Heinz Ketchup
I miss glass bottles. I come from a generation of glass. And therein lies a fundamental difference between my generation and the current one.
A Woman Named Honey
Her name is Honey. She is in the meet-and-greet line after one of my shows. She holds one of my books. White hair. Tiny frame. Maybe five-foot.
Phone Withdrawals
My first week owning a dumb phone has been, well, dumb. In fact, it’s been so uneventful, I’m not totally sure what to do with myself.
Why I Stopped Writing And Started Listening
I’m sure some of you have noticed I haven’t been writing as much as I used to. I get lots of emails asking why this is. Many of these emails are ultra-friendly emails, beginning with the words, “WHERE THE HELL ARE YOU!!!?”
To answer this, I need to start by telling you about our trip to Spain.
Dear You, Whoever You Are
You’re going through something right now. Something bad. Something truly, inexplicably, wholly, and everlastingly crappy.
I don’t know what it is. But it’s ugly. And it’s getting the best of you.
The Rainbow Bridge
A little boy walked into the little church, unannounced. It was a weekday. A country church. Clapboards. Tin roof. The kind of church that—until a few years ago—only had window-unit A/C.
Lessons From a Goldfish
I have no children. The closest I ever came to having a child was when my wife got me a goldfish for Christmas. His name was Gary.
My New “Dumbphone”
My phone finally arrives in the mail. It’s small. Ugly. It’s “dumb.” And it looks like it was invented during the Herbert Hoover administration.
Coosa County Sunsets: Morgan Visits the Lake
Morgan arrived at the little lake cabin around lunchtime. Her sorority sister Grace was driving the car. The car wheeled into the gravel driveway. When Morgan crawled out of the passenger seat, we all rushed her and embraced.
Shaking Your Butt
How did I get here? What career path led me to this moment? Why am I onstage, before several hundred, shaking my fundaments?
The William Penn Overture
I like Pennsylvania. They’re nice here. They say “yous” and “yinz” and “soda pop.” They have Appalachian manners, a steelman’s work ethic, and potholes big enough to swallow Peterbilts.
How to be a Real Columnist
Here is how the typical morning of a columnist goes. You sit down at the computer. And before you write, you begin by asking yourself the age-old question, “Why should anyone care what I have to say?”
Amazing Grace
Morning. I am driving two-lane highways in the backcountry of Missouri. I have been sharing the highway with mostly rusty pickups and Massey Ferguson farm implements. Also deer.
Missouri. The place where the western prairie meets the southern cotton patches. It’s a foreign land to me.
You’d never know I was born in Missouri. You’d never guess my father died in Missouri.