Sister Mary Joanna & The Invention Of The “Fun Fact”

Sister Mary Joanna was four feet nine. She was a Sister of Notre Dame. It would be many years before I understood that she had nothing to do with the Fighting Irish football team, the Four Horsemen or “Touchdown Jesus.” For that matter, it would take a long time for me to figure out why they called her “sister,” because I had four sisters at home and they weren’t even close to the same thing. She spoke broken English (it might have been broken Italian). She had a pretty impressive black mustache, only a day or two from the combing and trimming stage (for this we labeled her Mister Joanna, even though we knew that mocking God’s sister might trigger a natural disaster).

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Songs Of The South

The lights went out all at once, like the sudden throwing of a breaker switch. It could have been the power. It was a cold autumn night with those big fat clouds rolling across the sky with ill intent, blotting out the moon at intervals as if life was a spooky horror film. It was threatening rain and in the rundown neighborhood we had gathered at this evening, with landlords investing most of their dollars on tall boys and white powder and Church’s chicken and very little on utility bills and electrical upkeep, unannounced darkness was not unexpected.

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She Never Strikes Up A Conversation On Her Own

She’s tall for someone in her profession and by most standards trim, but her overall appearance is a bit round. When we first met we were both a bit tentative, me awkwardly fumbling for something to say, her replying with mostly one-word answers. I remember in those early days, just wanting to make conversation, asking her who her favorite quarterback was, and she first said it was that old guy in Denver Peyton Manning, but when I asked her a second time she answered Russell Wilson, mentioning that she was from Seattle. I told her that I thought both picks were pretty weak, and she said, I’m not sure.

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