I just noticed that Tony Woodlief is blogging again, after a hiatus. He is absolutely one of my favorite writers anywhere. I laughed uncontrollably over his "Letter to the Pocket Man," for example. Then there's his essay on preparing to sell some of his children's toys at a yard sale:
There's the lingering guilt over selling my children's toys, and there's also the cold reality that some of those relatives with very poor ideas about gift-giving may actually visit one day, and have memories so sharp that they think to ask, "so where is the bright orange Ronco Combination Paintball Gun and Phonics Primer, the one that fires projectiles at 110 miles per hour and plays Snoop Dogg at 85 decibels when your child pronounces a syllable correctly?"On a more serious note, he occasionally writes heartbreakingly beautiful stuff about his daughter who died as a toddler, such as this essay.
"Um, it broke. In several pieces. And caught on fire. There was only a puddle of plastic left."
"Really? It sure looked sturdy enough. Oh well, I was thinking of getting the boys that new George Foreman Veggie and Candy Bar Fryer -- the one they can operate themselves. It plays an educational jingle when the oil reaches its boiling point."