Garden Road - February 9, 2016 As I prepared for my brief teaching career at Iowa State University, the school held a weeklong workshop before the semester began. Most of the student teachers were in their first years out of undergrad, from places of such various backgrounds as an Irish kid who grew up a few miles from the Grand Wizard of the Ku Klux Klan, to a girl that attended Transylvania University (yes, there is such a place in the United States). Feb 8, 2016, 09:01
Garden Road - February 2, 2016 Instead of a formal announcement in the Times-Republican, I will instead note in my column the outstanding news my wife Jennifer Pruiett-Selby received. Her poem, ‘Etiquette for Maidens,’ received first place in the Beullah Rose Poetry Prize. The editors of the magazine Smartish Pace, based in Baltimore—home of troubled poet Edgar Allan Poe—selected it from hundreds of submissions. The winner receives a generous cash prize. Feb 1, 2016, 09:06
Garden Road - January 26, 2016 There are moments driving on the highway when the passing hills blur, and our minds run on automatic. When you come to, time has passed. You are somewhere else, but still buckled in the car. You were perfectly safe during those few seconds. It was as if someone or something else took the wheel. Jan 25, 2016, 08:59
Garden Road - January 19, 2016 Recently, after the younger children go down for bed, my oldest stepdaughter feeds her appetite for ‘The Walking Dead.’ My wife has no use for zombie movies or television series with plots slowly plodding after the undead. I pay attention during some episodes. There are only so many ways to kill something that is already deceased. After six seasons, the writers of the show cannot help but imitate themselves. Jan 18, 2016, 09:21
Garden Road - January 12, 2016 In 1994, my family made the trek to the Allerton Civic Center to celebrate my grandfather’s, Paul Jackson’s, 80th birthday. It was a white Christmas that Holiday season, and more snow fell on January 3 to start the new year. At that point, I was still young enough to enjoy watching snow fall without worrying too much about sliding into a ditch off an icy highway. My only commute was to high school and back. My boss would not call to make sure I was coming to work on the most treacherous day of the year, which would happen to me when I was 24. In ’94, my brother and I drove to our grandfather’s celebration in his red Mazda pickup while listening to Led Zeppelin.
No other month seems quite as long or as cold as pale January. I once loved how the world changed once the temperature dipped below 32 degrees Fahrenheit. It did not matter that icicles formed because a building was poorly insulated. Now, winter still has its charm, but I appreciate the danger more. The Donner party could explain the problem with too much snow. Jan 11, 2016, 09:02