This I Believe
Hello. I do considerable reading in the history of American religions. It’s one of my longstanding interests, though I myself am not religious. For instance, this evening I was reading something about the Shakers....
John P. O'Grady Blog
Standstill
Early November. Sun just going down. “Unseasonably warm,” they say. I’m heading home from the car dealership. New snow tires. But right now I’m stuck in Albany traffic, a standstill on I-787. Road...
On Your Way
Back to the service center at the car dealership. I figure they’re my best bet for an explanation as to why every warning light on my dashboard is wildly flashing like a Reno slot...
A Crossing
Night ride across New Jersey. Aren’t they all? But for this one the sun is dressed up for Trick-or-Treat, so it shines. Corridors of commerce. Crowded highways. Aggressive drivers. Stoplights with jug-handle turns. Filigree...
Myself and My Circumstances
I’m back at the diner. It’s a real place and once again I’ve got real car problems. Minor ones perhaps, but they require genuine attention. A bigger problem would be having to sit in...
Street View in Queens, New York
I fired up Google Street View and started poking around the edges of cemeteries in Queens, New York. Why would anybody do such a thing? For me anyway it began this morning with a...
Waiting
The only time I see TV anymore is when I take the car in for service and find myself sitting in the waiting area of the dealership. They call this place the “lounge.” Today...
Locus Amoenus
Days like this I half expect to meet the Proprietor of Paradise Hill. He’s around here somewhere, they say. I’ve never met him. I’m always just missing him, either in these auriferous woods or...
“Eat What’s Put in Front of You!”
The “Transfer Station”–formerly known as the Town Dump–is one of the more poignant stops on my weekly pilgrimage of errands. Here, for instance, is an image of the opened tomb of a forgotten citizen known...
The Night I Composed My Own Epitaph
The year was 1985. The place was an old-fashioned Irish pub in the middle-of-nowhere Connemara. I was a “Yank come home” learning Irish among Irish teachers of Irish schoolchildren. All of us were out...