95 Picadilly

When growing up, my late sister collected autographed photos of pageant titleholders.  I recently looked at those.  There were inevitably hundreds. Women who became famous for many endeavours.  Others who faded into history.  All that left a mark on an industry that I think is maligned and misunderstood.  Over the weekend, we saw the crowning…

There’s a particularly doleful piece of poetry, often recited on days of military remembrance, titled “For the Fallen,” written by English dramatist Laurence Binyon, in 1914, in the midst of the First Great War.  His piece, not unlike the more familiar “In Flanders Fields,’ is written in deep reflection, in a moment when the spirit…

By Shane Gilreath Habemus Papam. We have a pope. A few years ago, when studying Theology at the Augustine Institute, I made what some might call an unwise, if not impromptu decision – to take up Latin. Though it was not required, as it is in some programs, having studied a lot of languages in…

There is so much going on these days, in my life and yours, good, bad, sad, and indifferent.  Our world is ever-changing, but when the beauty of spring brings forth its frankness, it becomes an era of milestones and transitions. As we look back on these moments, we’ll recognize them as passageways from one period to the next, often dates…

This weekend, we’re sure to witness the power of the world wide web, as a multitude of Easter greetings and shared scriptures conclude the recognition of Holy Week 2025. Social media has become invariably a part of our everyday lives, and while there’s a beauty in the freedom with which we can exchange thoughts and…

As the weather continues to vacillate back and forth, and spring battles the million and one famed Southern winters, it’s an interregnum season that often leads me to reflect on change. As the spurts of warmth bring the earth to life, it somehow has a way of doing the same for me, but with the…

It was midday and high summer and I was standing in front of the Lazarus department store on Outer Loop in Louisville, Kentucky. My father, my aunt, Elsie, and I had just had dinner at a restaurant called River House with views of the Ohio River. I was 10-years old and was enamored by the…

The older I get, the more aware I am of the passage of time. Not solely because of squeaky knees and my newfound adherence to reading glasses, but because I think there’s a semblance of grieving for yesteryear in a way that even surpasses lost youth. It’s a reality that has been reflected countless times…