The Grove Guy

       I saw them today, hundreds of kids marching single file in ninety-degree heat at Homestead's prison for kids. They were surrounde...

    Two years ago Francesca wanted an owl house for her birthday.  I recycled an ancient pine hurricane shutter into this high-rise home. Th...

          I drove past 6,957 tombstones yesterday, each one representing an American soldier killed in the Afghanistan and Iraq wars since 2...

In my last piece I wrote about the post-dead.  Today, I turn my column over to an Alabama pastor and his thoughts about the "not yet br...

       Nothing lasts forever including these wheezing, breathing, bodies of ours. In the past, when a conversation turned to, "What do...

       I never cut the rug with my dad. He was too busy flying, fishing, or playing pinochle.  Still, when I hear Luther Vandross' ...

         Remember the way Coconut Grove use to be?  We called it a village because it really was. Trees were taller than the buildings. Thin...