Jim Dodson
A World Drowning in a Downpour of Noise
A good friend phoned from his annual spiritual retreat to Florida the other day just to say hello and hear a friendly voice. For a solid month he does nothing more than fast, read books and walk the beach, losing weight and gaining perspective - virtually all in silence.
Rolling out the ‘Hope List’ for the New Year
Owing to a pitiful track record on the matter, I gave up making New Year resolutions years ago.
Bring Back Old Christmas
Barely 24 hours into the new year, as a colleague and I strolled out to get the year's first cup of coffee the other morning, we bumped into town work crews removing trees and hauling down the Christmas greenery from West Broad Street's light poles.
The Sacred Hoop of Life
Someone over pie and eggnog the other night asked me about Aunt Emma. They remembered me writing briefly about her some years back.
Tidings of Discomfort and Joy
Several years ago, my wife and her mom took off on a family research trip to central Ohio, hoping to find out more about Irish ancestors who migrated west in the 19th century. Theirs was a family of schoolteachers, and their research in courthouses and libraries around Findlay, Ohio, proved bountiful. They were able to connect names and faces to real people they'd only known only from family stories and scrapbooks.
A Flash From Old Fezziwig: Kindness Leaves Us All Richer
Reprinted from the December issue of PineStraw magazine.
Waiting Beneath the Clock
And so the waiting continues, or maybe it’s just beginning. We’re waiting for the old year to run out — or down — like a dear old mantel clock whose springs simply need winding.
Email: Frank John is Trying to Kill Me
It was a slow Monday, my first day back in the office after Thanksgiving. I was nursing a doozy of a hangover from too much turkey and pumpkin pie, trying to decide between writing a column or taking a nap.
Thanksgiving Weekend is a 'Spa Day' for the Soul
Reading before dawn and eating my wife’s homemade pies are two of life’s finest pleasures, and Thanksgiving is the one day I fully indulge myself.
Wherever We Go, We Take Home With Us
Reprinted from the November issue of PineStraw magazine
On the Slimy Trail of One of Life’s Garden Visitors
They came out of the darkness the other night devouring everything in their path.
Our Sports Culture Suffers Self-Inflicted Wounds
Long ago and far away, the arrival of November used to really fire up the sports fan in me.
Moving From Clenched Fists to Open Hands of Friendship
The result has been a love affair — and spiritual and cultural nexus — between the Mourne District and the Sandhills that grows exponentially with every passing year.
Surrounded in a Fog, A Clarity Still Emerges
They were the last voices I heard in the fog that night —the ones that will always be with me wherever we live and roam.
Reflections on My October Friend
He's my oldest friend and might be the closest thing I know to a Renaissance man: an expert fly-fisherman and serious outdoorsman, a crack businessman, a devoted husband and father, a student of history and philosophy, serious oenophile, respectable golfer, skilled guitarist, even a beloved Sunday School teacher.
