SNYDERMANIA: 11/01/2014

Friday, November 28, 2014

Richard Rios "Songs of The Barrio" - Reading his story 'A Rite of Passage.'

Here's my pal, Richard Rios, reading his Thanksgiving story "A Rite of Passage." I read tale to my students on Thanksgiving Eve. The little squirts loved it. The final line of the story never fails to to make me smile. Richard Rios is one of America's greatest story tellers.

You can order a copy of his collection of stories, Songs From the Barrio, from Amazon.com.

Saturday, November 22, 2014

FORMER BUGMAN BECOMES FORMER FORMER TEACHER

Arizona cockroaches, ants, and scorpions are breathing a little easier. My career as an exterminator is officially over. No more walking into trees and spider webs. No more squirting myself in the face with chemicals. No more getting chased by bees and German Shepherds. I've walked away from the bug biz and returned to the teaching game. After my first week back in the classroom, I can honestly say I'm…tired. Really, really tired. Perhaps I'll bring my held exterminating can to work with me Monday.

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NORTHERN EXPOSURE

Goethe's final words: "More light." Ever since we crawled out of that primordial slime, that's been our unifying cry: "More light." Sunlight. Torchlight. Candlight. Neon. Incandescent. Lights that banish the darkness from our caves, to illuminate our roads, the insides of our refrigerators. Big floods for the night games at Soldier's field. Little tiny flashlight for those books we read under the covers when we're supposed to be asleep. Light is more than watts and footcandles. Light is metaphor. Thy word is a lamp unto my feet. Rage, rage against the dying of the light. Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom Lead Thou me on! The night is dark, and I am far from home- Lead Thou me on! Arise, shine, for thy light has come. Light is knowledge. Light is life. Light is light.

FIELD OF DREAMS

Well, you know I... I never got to bat in the major leagues. I would have liked to have had that chance. Just once. To stare down a big league pitcher. To stare him down, and just as he goes into his windup, wink. Make him think you know something he doesn't. That's what I wish for. Chance to squint at a sky so blue that it hurts your eyes just to look at it. To feel the tingling in your arm as you connect with the ball. To run the bases - stretch a double into a triple, and flop face-first into third, wrap your arms around the bag. That's my wish, Ray Kinsella. That's my wish. And is there enough magic out there in the moonlight to make this dream come true?