Apr
03
My garage is a liminal space.
When I sit in my car, I’m only temporarily there — whether coming or going. I generally don’t linger in that here/not here place. Today I lingered; today I sat in the driver’s seat and tried to allow in the feelings of spontaneous temporariness. Read More
Jan
02
Our sweet, sweet granddaughter entered our lives on Sunday night.
Her great-grandmother — my wife’s mother — left us on Wednesday night.
Before the funeral, he is curled up in a little ball on his daughter’s bed. Outside, Saturday happens. Lawnmowers whine, trucks bang by; his subdivision is subdivided.
Dec
04
I’m popping popcorn. Standing at the stove, I slowly turn the little handle on our ancient popper as one or two kernels escape the vat. It’s unusual for me to be doing this at this hour, 4:30 in the evening. As the kernels twirl, the emotions swirl behind me.
May
04
So I’m hanging out, chatting with my wife and daughter after running some errands, having a salty snack — the usual slow afternoon things — when KABLOOEY, it hits me; I’ve outlived my father.
Mar
09
You can credit the pills.
You can credit eight months of treatment.
You can credit the warm, moist Caribbean air and glorious sunshine.
Or, like me, you can also credit the Mayan Healing Ritual.
It’s a first-frost-on-your-windshield kind of fall day. The sun creaks above the horizon and the frozen blades of grass quickly melt onto my shoes. Walking out among the mounds, I step back in time.
There should’ve been a sign at the beginning.
Right at the trailhead — right when it was do or die time — the sign should’ve said something like “WARNING: Middle-aged Suburban Guys Should Probably Stay Back In The Gift Shop.”
Feb
13