Who would I be if I forgot the best teacher I ever had for coaxing me to get over my math phobia, or the time my boss bailed me out and then reamed me out after I got a client into a disastrous investment, or the glowing loveliness of my wife Jane on

Hey y’all, Getting into that Texas spirit!! Just itching to climb into those cowboy boots and hitch up these Texas-size britches for a spell. I’ve put in an order at the airport’s rent-a-gun store for a Glock and holster. The wife says it makes

That afternoon, we had our cab driver let us out at the driveway to our apartment building’s underground garage. “Why is the garage door opening?” Alison said, as she got out. Her voice was muffled by her mask, a murkiness I’d never grown used to

Here are three sentences I intensely dislike: If this is an emergency, hang up and dial 911. Thank you for your patience and cooperation. Stay woke. These lines tell us that society has become too big for itself. The first is the standard opening

Could any food name excite more disgust? Yet bacon jam is what my friend and neighbor turned up with at my door three weeks ago. He said it was “amazing,” but he’s always saying something or someone is amazing. If they’re not amazing, they’re

Project Bloom is a new anthology of essays and poems written by people who experienced the pandemic. Lisa M. Alexander and Joshua Potter-Efron, the editors, have drawn on works by a variety of people whose names are hardly household, mine included.