Jim Dodson

The Rhythm of Coming, Going Home

Purely on a spring lark the other day, or simple folly, I Google-viewed my old house and garden in Maine and briefly lived to regret it.

Through the Eyes of Today's Tribal Elders

We were deep in the mountains last Saturday night, my oldest friend and me, sitting by a large crackling fire under a vault of bright stars, mere yards from one of the finest - and last - true wild trout streams in the East.

A Color Commentary About All These White Cars

Forget the sequester, gun control, even Dennis Rodman's budding bromance with Korea's nuke-happy troll doll Kim Jung Un.

Soulful Thought: In These Troubled Times, 'God Is Ripening'

During a recent weekend phone conversation with my daughter, she casually mentioned that she was thinking of checking out Riverside Presbyterian Church some Sunday morning this spring.

Cousin Junior's Take on Events is News to Us

I dropped in on Cousin Junior the other day to get his perspective on the news. February has been a rich month for news junkies like me. But listening to human hot-air balloons like Al Sharpton and Bill O'Reilly makes me wish television had never been invented.

Forever Young? I'll Take Forever 52

On a cold Friday in late January of 1975, I skipped a senior history seminar class at college and drove three hours home to surprise my father for his 60th birthday, bringing him a bottle of his favorite Napoleon brandy.

Love Conquers All - Even us Cheap-Hearted Souls

Frenchman Nicholas Garreau thinks he has me outfoxed in the romance department.

Deliverance By Fire, Trial By Ice

Cassie and Kira, the super-smart, culturally savvy young women who sound as if they're named for classical goddesses and make our office run so brilliantly, sometimes laugh out loud when I throw up my hands over a major vexing computer challenge - like how to turn my laptop back on after a sudden power loss - and declare, "That's it! Get me out of here! By Jove, I belong back in the 19th century!"

Mom Was a 'True Steel Magnolia'

Today, as I write this, my mom would have been 93 years old, and I walked a mile or so down the beach to where, half a century or so ago, just this side of the original Johnny Mercer pier, she taught me to swim in a small lagoon on the sound side of the island.

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.