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Hawthorn Hill Journal: Pardon Me

Pardon me, but is anyone out there as baffled by this pardon thing as I am? Cornucopias normally spew edible things like fruits, flowers or nuts. Since when are clearly defined presidential powers misconstrued as pardon cornucopias? Put mildly, things have gotten a bit out of hand.…

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Hawthorn Hill Journal: Mismanaging Human Integrity

As I sit here looking out my window every day, and after reading through what are considered credible news resources most mornings, one cannot help but be struck by the preponderance of incivility just about everywhere. Perhaps my thoughts at this moment are clouded by the dismal view from my study window.…

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Hawthorn Hill Journal: Farewell, and Thanks, Bill

My lifelong relationship with Thoreau, Emerson, Robert Frost and a host of notable American authors and poets stems from those days in Bill’s classroom and on many of the walks that we would take, especially on warm, sunny days. His was an expansive grasp of American literature, as well as history.…

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Hawthorn Hill Journal: Of Signs and Democracy

One aspect of this perennial circus that I would like to see done away with is the placing of signs everywhere—lawns, intersections, buildings, cars, etc. My wife has been a bit grumpy with me because I have insisted that we not place a sign at the bottom of our driveway divulging to all the world our preferred candidate.…

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Hawthorn Hill Journal: Of the Olympics, Patriotism

White faces, black faces, yellow faces, what a wonderful pallet of what America is and always has been about, a stewpot of all kinds of people from incredibly diverse backgrounds, all sharing in the joy they feel at the accomplishments of their fellow citizens. This color thing has always puzzled me.…

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Hawthorn Hill Journal: Of Garlic, Bluebirds, Bees and Yeats

This annual garlic adventure of mine turns out to be a time to wrestle, without having to pin them down, some of the more worrisome problems we now face “in these United States.” It is easy to ignore unpleasantness; even harder to know what to do about it. As I was hanging up the last of the garlic, I was thinking of W.B. Yeats’ great poem, “The Second Coming.”…

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Hawthorn Hill Journal: On Prototypical Manliness

I am aware of the extent to which grilling and manliness go hand in hand. By that account, as well as others, it appears that I fall short with respect to any acceptable measure of masculinity. Since I have never allowed specious stereotypes to stand in my way or diminish my sense of self, so be it. Men, if grilling satisfies some inner need, be my guest.…

Hawthorn Hill Journal: On Playpens and Politics

One news tidbit today had to do with how much money each of the presidential candidates has amassed. I gave up donating money to political campaigns some time ago. I would rather donate my money to organizations that focus on urgent needs, such as hunger and eradicating malaria.…

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