Up late on the eve of my 47th birthday. Drinking vodka and Sprite. Eating sour Twizzlers. Looking at the flies I purchased from Orvis during a 70% off sale. Finally, they’re here. The media shows a world going to hell, but selfish me, I’ve been thinking about fishing. Checking the mailbox twice a day for … More another year
Up late on the eve of my 47th birthday. Drinking vodka and Sprite. Eating sour Twizzlers. Looking at the flies I purchased from Orvis during a 70% off sale. Finally, they’re here. The media shows a world going to hell, but selfish me, I’ve been thinking about fishing. Checking the mailbox twice a day for … More another year
Bubbles in puddles mean rain for three days. It’s day two. The transplanted bushes and sod are greening. Roots are taking hold. I never cared much for landscaping. And still don’t. But lately, I’ve found there’s a calming effect being so close to the ground, putting fingers into the earth. But there was no yard … More a family walk
You did well today. Casting a silver-blue Panther Martin over and over. Under overhangs. Over stumps. Placing the lure within inches of the bank, as if you’d done it before. But you hadn’t. I’m happy I got waders for you. Even if we never enter the water together again, I will always remember today. You … More Trout River
Food affects mood. So does sleep. Not doing what we want, or being what we’re meant to be. That kills us too. But all of us are dying. The sun’s gonna eat us alive in 6.5 billion years. Or maybe tonight, in dreams. I suppose that’s when Jesus will walk again. Or ride in on … More bodies in motion
There are mornings I wake more rested than ever. Oddly enough, those are the days that typically lead me right down the shitter. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I am not used to waking fully repaired. That’s what sleep is supposed to do, right? Rest us. Repair us. Prepare us. So we can … More shove it down
Out of bed and down the stairs to open the old wooden door and take a breath of morning. It is cold. Twenty-nine degrees. Tiny white flakes drift and spiral in the air. It is Spring in Alpena, Michigan. Our neighborhood is silent, except for our American flag. A heavy-duty, hand-stitched beauty that’s got a … More thirty-five degrees
Grinding coffee on the porch as the dog does her business. I don’t want to stir my wife or kids. They need sleep. The wood underfoot is so cold my feet burn. But it feels good to be outside on another Alpena April morning. And now, inside, I sip warm liquid and get to work, … More Alpena April Morning
Chickadees, Blue Jays, and Robins are at it. Singing and fighting. Because it is Spring. Earthworms slide across wet sidewalks. Black and gray squirrels leap from powerlines to branches and dance across streets. Most of them make it, but some don’t. We pass these little bodies each day without a second thought. My kids … More making bacon during COVID-19
We were five weeks into it. My trips on weekends to visit. S.B. was living on Stieber Street. Doing her best. Trying to teach art to kids that didn’t get regular meals, words of encouragement, or hugs. She was raising a two-year-old. By herself. In a neighborhood that was just a step above questionable. The … More to S.B. on her birthday
