life doesn’t wait for backed up sewer lines

In two inches of shitty water. Plunging the drain in the basement. Over and over again. Wads of hair. Toilet paper. Band-aids. Pieces of foil. Rubber bands. Bits of unidentifiable things built up over years, even long before we got here.  It splashes me. It stinks. But it’s nearly midnight and I’m not losing this … More life doesn’t wait for backed up sewer lines

twelve years into it

The sky threatened for hours. Light, then dark. Light, then dark. Light, then an expanse of dull gray, puffed up and floating above the big lake and our little town. The rain, mostly unpredictable sprinkles, came and went. Came and went. But we welcomed the day, and we were happy.  This was yesterday. Our anniversary. … More twelve years into it

a family walk

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

bodies in motion

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

shove it down

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

thirty-five degrees

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

our last day

(this story first appeared in Vol 28.1 of December Magazine) First the snow. Three heavy hours. We run in it. Play. Build snowmen. Snowball fight. Fall onto our backs, move our legs and arms back and forth until we turn into angels.   Then the heat. Within an hour the snow is gone. We are down … More our last day