Everyone suddenly knows what it is that drives a young man to arm himself with a weapon and extinguish light. Driven by their own beliefs, agendas, and experience, they label, pigeon-hole, and validate. Nobody seems to consider that perhaps all of it is more complicated than what we read and hear and see. We want … More we’d never do that
We have these great beautiful minds and souls to explore and a whole life to do it. And yet, we shy away or flat out refuse opportunities to open up and learn. We subscribe to someone else’s beliefs. We fulfill expectations that aren’t our own. We pull away, opt for comfort and safety, and slowly … More Exploration
This morning is a good one. It’s going to be another beautiful summer day in Alpena, Michigan. Clear sky, probably high 70s. Little to no wind. Except for cars passing down 2nd Avenue every so often and crows cawing and heckling a few blocks over, all is quiet in the neighborhood. Julian gassed up with … More church doughnuts
I know night when there is no time tick, tick, tocking and all of our efforts are fading. So sometimes I listen to music in the dark. Bon Iver’s Blood Bank or Manchester Orchestra’s April Fool. Maybe even Eddie Vedder driftin’, driftin’ away. But it only makes me remember that I have a secret I … More watch me
(smiling robin art by Brooke Stevens) Left my family for a bit—probably just a day. Drive from Alpena, Michigan to Columbus, OH for a meeting. Along the way, a big mud turtle is saved as it scrapes across M33. It isn’t thankful at all as it is placed in the swampy ditch. Just sits there … More away from home
He’s lost it a little. That something that pushed and pushed and pushed him. It was light. But there was deep darkness too. Days did not end or begin. They only moved seamlessly one into another. And now that he is full and filling out—heavier, slower, more patient with the world—he has so much of … More and tonight, there is this
He comes to me. Big, brown eyes. Smiling. “Daddy, let’s pick night crawlers.” “What for?” He does a little jump. Claps his hands. “For fishing!” My boy. Five years old. Tickled with the notion of traipsing through puddles, picking slimy worms. “But we can’t go fishing today,” I say. “Mom will be here soon.” Undefeated. … More after the rain
