Just because a cat has her kittens in the oven, that doesn't make them cookies.
Michael Bishop is TECHNICALLY not a Georgia boy, but we don't hold that against him. His parents were just a bit dislocated when he was born, that's all, and he corrected the situation just as quickly as he was able. He currently resides in the Town Formerly Known As Chipley, and he is ours; and we are his.
He knows us, in all our brilliant, goofy, flawed insanity. Some of the stories have a beginning, and a build, and a crisis point, and a revolutionary wrench at the end; other stories are just what happened last Thursday. Many of them address the means in which ordinary people adapt to extra-ordinary tragedy. These are authentic, and moving.
If you are not a Georgia person, you may miss some of the subtle nuances. There is nothing subtle at all about having your guts kicked out through your back, and still be expected to carry on, and those are experiences all too many of us have had. Those stories, you will recognize.
Personal reflection: When devastation comes out of nowhere, it is meaningless. For those of us who are left behind to pack up the belongings, sometimes, if we persevere, we discover meaning. Not causes; not reasons! Knowing causes and reasons is NEVER satisfying. The meaning of a tragedy is deeply personal. I believe it's found primarily in the way our lives change. Sometimes, it's making plywood cut-outs to mark a graveside. Sometimes, it's giving an old person a bath, or playing the violin stark naked. Initially, it might just be trying to move your family out of rattlesnake country; if only that were possible.
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