It’s time to talk memes again. I have seen several different versions of an irritating meme circling around. This meme always has a tacky, Thomas Kinkade-style painting of a wrought-iron gate up in the clouds on it. Superimposed over the Heavenly gate is some version of the following: “Remember, Heaven has a wall. It has a big beautiful door. And you need extreme vetting to get in.” At first I thought this meme was being promulgated to defend President Trump’s travel... Read more
I don’t watch football. I don’t care if anyone else watches football. I don’t imagine that I’m a better person than somebody who watches football. I just don’t personally care for it. So, I wasn’t watching the Super Bowl this weekend. I was “Trying to get some writing done,” which means absentmindedly scrolling around on Facebook hoping one of my friends said something witty enough to inspire a blog post. I’ve been a bit sick and foggy headed, so the... Read more
I know, I know, I promised that I’d stop reading The Remnant. And I did. I’ve been clean for almost a month. I still am, technically. I didn’t read The Remnant. I read LifeSite News, which happened to be promoting a short video from Remnant TV. I would not recommend you do the same. I’m linking to the LifeSite article for citation purposes, since I will be quoting it quite a bit, but that’s not an endorsement that you should read it or,... Read more
I’ve found an answer for all of those people who say we’ve got no room for refugees. The ones who say that America can’t take care of refugees because we’ve barely got enough for ourselves. The ones who ask you how many refugees you can fit in your own home, if they’re going to come here. I answer them right away: twenty thousand and one. My small town of Steubenville has a population of about eighteen thousand, down from about thirty-eight thousand... Read more
When I was growing up, we had a chapel in our house. I knew that other children didn’t have a chapel and we did, but it didn’t strike me as odd. It was one of the rooms in the house. The basement. The living room. The kitchen. The chapel. I was used to it. The chapel had been put in when we got the addition built, when I was seven. My mother had just had her fourth of five children; we... Read more
If I were the president, or a dictator or something, and we had a National Prayer Breakfast, I would require everyone to gather at five o’clock in the morning after Lauds. We’d eat standing and barefoot in the dark, silent, while the Prioress read the Good Friday Reproaches. If I were the president, I would move the bust of Martin Luther King, Junior, out of the oval office, along with all the other busts and every other piece of flotsam... Read more
I got on Facebook, nibbling a gluten-free waffle. I just wanted to complain to my friends. It’s what I do. Then a pop-up appeared in the corner of my screen. “Live: Anti-Fascist Demonstration in Berkeley.” I am against fascism and deeply against Tv’s Donald Trump. I’ve been watching the protests all over the country. I put in my earbud and watched this one. It was more than a demonstration. Something was burning– something that looked like an ice cream pushcart, but turned... Read more
I have here in front of me, a transcript of Donald Trump’s remarks at a White House Black History Month event this morning. These remarks are, in a quiet way, the most tragic thing to come out of the Trump presidency so far. Let’s have a gander: Well, the election, it came out really well. Next time we’ll triple the number or quadruple it. We want to get it over 51, right? At least 51. I’m not pulling your leg.... Read more
I woke to the beating of rain on the window– a dark, sloppy Ohio Valley Tuesday in the darkest, sloppiest part of the year. It was cold. I was depressed. I needed to cheer myself up. I took my daughter Rose downtown to The Friendship Room for a visit. In winter, the Friendship Room is open all day long as a shelter for the homeless and those who can’t afford to heat their houses. Molly says I can come over any time, and visiting always cheers... Read more
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Just Call Me “The Author”
(Note: These are all real comments I’ve received, here in the Disqus or on Facebook or sometimes in person, in response to my blog posts; some of them are paraphrased, but they all happened.) Q: This post seems judgy. A: I’m an internet blogger. Q: I am surprised that Patheos allowed an article so poorly written to be published. A: I’m an internet blogger. I could write “I want sprinkles!” a dozen times and click “publish,” and by the... Read more