At the Seelbach Hotel in downtown Louisville, the lobby walls are constructed with several types of marble. Some of the marble, fifteen feet above the floor, is cut in long rectangles and circles. Red and brown designs in the circular cuts resemble planets; longer sections portray geological wars that span eons.

In the face of this stone I see the work of Michelangelo. The markings in these metamorphic rocks reveal nature’s endless battles—swirling flames and clouds, the cosmic force of the Sistine Chapel ceiling.

Like the metamorphosis of limestone into marble, the artist underground is tortured by heat and pressure before his release into the world romance of everyday life.

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Midwest Book Review by D. Donovan, eBook Reviewer, MBR

American Sky: Good Landings and Other Flying Adventures is a recommendation for any who enjoy stories of flight, documents the author’s aviation encounters, and blends a memoir of flying with a chronicle of how he moved from being an antiwar protestor in the late 1960s to becoming a corporate jet pilot. But most of all, it’s a story of how Fred Tribuzzo came to realize his dream (of flying planes), and packs in exciting moments. (more…)

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Outside the Cleveland Clinic, Alan and I heard the rumble of an airliner buried in the clouds.

“I need to get outside every few hours, even if it’s cold,” he said, looking at the congestion of traffic and people. He glanced at the low overcast framed by the buildings. “Did Dad see the Seven-Thirty-Seven?”

“I never flew into Akron Canton with it.”

Currently I was flying the Boeing Business Jet, an extremely fancy 737 designed for only eighteen passengers, with bathrooms, showers, a master bedroom, dining room table and a large plasma TV on the forward bulkhead.

“Well, he got to see the Citation Ten,” Alan said.

“Yeah, he took a bunch of pictures and warned me about crashing before he left.” (more…)

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I wasn’t sure if the man I met wandering the streets of Kansas City was a homeless person or just a bum. According to the definition, a bum is someone “who avoids work and seeks to live off others.” But the person I met never asked for money. A friend once told me hobos occasionally appeared at their front door when she was a child. Her mother would talk with the man for a few minutes before inviting him in for something to eat. Inside, the kids sat around the kitchen table bug-eyed, quietly watching the strange man eat everything on his plate. Afterwards he’d do some chores for the mom, then leave. That wasn’t my guy either. (more…)

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