The dogs so happy to be out in the fresh day. Scents everywhere. Running. Pissing. Pooping. Around the yard, through the leaves, sniffing around the small wood pile, sure that something’s there. And it likely is. Or was. Nestled into a crevice. Surrounded by dried grass, leaves, bits of paper, and strands of string. A … More a month and two days
We’re more alike than different. Until we recognize this and act upon it through kindness and understanding, the shitshow will continue. We can’t blame 2020. And it’s not a certain group, team, color, race, sight or sound. It’s you. And it’s me. We aren’t making the best decisions we can. We’re moving along in our … More unicorns, ice cream, and balloons
“Self-destruction helps, but is rarely prescribed. Sure, I sleep little. Fight to lose the weight. Forget whatever it was I said to or heard from my wife yesterday, the day before, five minutes ago, but it’s cyclical and necessary. My routine for breaking routine.” … More above and below
The month is wrapping up. Not that it matters much. Dates in boxes. Pages with pictures. Calendars quantifying our existence. Making other days more important than others. Conditioning us for deadlines and expectations, so that we conform. Time is a construct. I am not 47. I am one and I am one-hundred. I’m yesterday and … More the paradigm
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
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
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
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
In the kitchen. Taxes on my mind. Knowing I need to get them done because if done right, we’ll get money back. We need this money to live this life we’re living. I understand that the sum of your belongings means nothing. But once you accumulate and have, you expect. It’s ridiculousness at its best. … More the pit
My kids go round the block. My daughter to her friend’s place. Within sight. Within earshot. But sometimes she goes left instead of right. A shortcut that eliminates 67 steps. My boy rides his bicycle to Bay View to play basketball. He runs too. From our street, up 1st, to Ripley, to 2nd and back … More the giving
