

Grass Between Your Toes
There was a stretch of time, maybe in Grad School, maybe in New York, where I had a pot and some soil and I set it out side. That it. That’s all the gardening I did. I didn’t buy seeds or fertilizer. The dirt was in there from whoever owned it before. Must have been spring or summer because before long, that thing was teeming with life. (Side bar—I think i just named my new book…Teeming with Life.) I would stare at this pot for 30, 40 minutes at a time, and wonder where or no


Beauty
There’s a rest area about fifteen minutes into South Carolina from once you cross the Georgia on I 85 N. It’s between exit 17 and 18. I’ve passed this rest area hundreds of times and never stopped. Mainly because rest areas aren’t really my thing. They combine two of my least favorite activities: Number 1, Using the bathroom. Especially around other people. Especially during the Covid. I’m in this hot, damp place, surrounded by the smell of body fluids and cleaning supplies,
Joe Dill, The Man From Landrum, Part 2
“Hello,” the voice said on the other end of the phone. “Ah, yes, this is David Nelson, I’m looking to speak to Councilman Dill.” “This is he.” Even in four brief words his upstate, South Carolina accent came across loud and clear. Not that I have room to talk. According to Jaimie and my sisters, this past Saturday night at dinner, my southern accent was out of control. The more I tried to squash it, the more it got away from me. I took this as unequivocal proof that I needed
Joe Dill, The Man From Landrum, Part 1.
That’ll teach me to call a politician from Landrum. Yesterday at 12pm, an ordinance went into place in the City of Greenville that requires employees and customers of grocery stores and pharmacies to wear a mask whilst in their place of business. Just pharmacies. Just grocery stores. I, personally, thought this was a victory for decency and common sense. As someone with lungs that are compromised, I try and go out as little as possible. I basically only go to pharmacies and d
Happy Not a Father Day!
Yesterday was Father’s Day. We had dinner at my parent’s house on Saturday night and I celebrated my father by buying him a bottle of Tempranillo. He seemed to like it. He’s also seemed to like about ever more frequent family gatherings. One of the great things to come out of Covid-19 for the Nelson family has been discovering how much we enjoy our socially distanced dinners on my parents’ drive way. We get to enjoy the weather, each other’s company, without the pressure cook
Juneteenth!
Today’s blog is about Juneteenth. And it’s going to be short. For several reasons—one, maybe a 41 year old white dude isn’t the one to be writing a think pieces on Juneteenth. Two, like many 41 year white dudes, I’m late to the Juneteenth party. Though, I have to say, it’s no fault of my own. I wasn’t really taught about Juneteenth in school. Maybe they mentioned it once. Maybe it was one of those pop out boxes in the corner of our text books. The little Factoids they put in
Stories Matter
“Every one has a story inside them just BURSTING to get out!” -State of the South Tour. Montgomery, AL. 2018. I got the most incredible email today, right before I started working on my blog. To tell you the truth, it shook me a little. In the best possible way. It actually made me change the topic of my blog. Today’s post was originally going to be a think piece about when people emphasize text messages. You know what I’m talking about? When you send someone a message and in
Back! The F! Up!
The things you hate in other people are the things you hate about yourself. This was the theme of one of the four homilies Father Nick, my childhood priest, used to say in loop. I’ve never been able to get it out of my head, so whenever someone pisses me off my first thought is—do I do that too? This past Saturday I went to have a socially distanced coffee with a friend of mine. This friend lives way out in the country. Over the years Greenville has become so fancy, and almos
It Was Just a Joke!
I can’t tell if it’s a sign that I’m a good comedian or a bad comedian that a joke I wrote on Facebook yesterday could cause a little dust up. Not a big dust up. Not enough to go viral, or anything. Just enough to get my heart rate up and for me to check my feed every five to ten minutes to see if someone else had commented. The joke was about neighborhoods that have the word “Plantation.” You know, Edgewood Plantation or Sawgrass Plantation or Seaside Plantation. I am making


Facts of Life
The sky was beautiful last night. It was so pretty that I stepped outside on my balcony and snapped a couple of pictures. I’ve been lucky enough to live in some places that had remarkable sunsets. They were so beautiful that I’ve grown to take the ones in Greenville for granted. The ones in Charleston qualified as a driving hazard. I'd be looking back towards downtown from the James Island Connector, the sky on fire. I'm sure that would be enough to give any insurance agent a