My wife turned off the television and said to our eldest child, “Go upstairs and write down your feelings. One day you will look back on this day and be glad that you did.” Our eleven-year-old daughter went to her bedroom to ponder what she had seen that horrific Tuesday, September 11, 2001. She came…… Continue reading March 28, 2020
Category: Memoir
Why Do I Play Pickleball?
Karen and I just got back from Edmond where we won a medal in mixed doubles. Karen thinks we should get money rather than medals. I remind her that I’m a two time loser in side jobs…golf (I made $271.00 in 1982 as a pro) and writing (I received $107.20 in book royalties in 2019)…… Continue reading Why Do I Play Pickleball?
Tell me your life story in 4 minutes
Tell me your life story in 4 minutes. This is a question I have been asking my friends and family. Their first reaction is stunned silence, a deer in headlights. Then slowly, the wheels begin to turn and they speak, measured and careful words, maneuvering around covered landmines. The years roll away and they become…… Continue reading Tell me your life story in 4 minutes
Kathryn & the Sycamore
We pulled our car into the driveway, narrowly missing a huge sycamore tree while striking the curb with the front wheel, and I told Karen that one can guess the age of a particular house by the width of the driveway. This house was from the Leave it to Beaver era. Dinner at Picasso’s in…… Continue reading Kathryn & the Sycamore
New York & Toronto: journal 2
August 24-25, 2017 We drove to the Adirondack Mountains with Toby & Debbie Taylor with plans to kayak the Moose River near the village of Old Forge. We wandered through Old Forge Hardware established in 1900. It’s squeaking groaning oak floors tells stories of those from another time walking these same boards with hunting boots,…… Continue reading New York & Toronto: journal 2
Memories from the Class of 1977
I always loved talking to Harry Whittaker. He made you feel better than you had the right to feel about yourself. We played the same position on the football team, wide receiver and cornerback, and during scrimmages, we blocked and pass covered one another. On one particular play from scrimmage, Harry was getting pretty vocal…… Continue reading Memories from the Class of 1977
The Unfolding Highway…part 1
I remember watching my Dad fold a road map on vacation while driving the highway. It is a lost art and the original texting while driving. Those maps had memory, and if you ignored the memory creases, there could be a thousand ways to fold the map, but only if you got in a hurry.…… Continue reading The Unfolding Highway…part 1
His Folger’s Can is Empty
The man with the shepherd crook disguised as a dust mop has died. There is a melancholy in the closet where the mops lean against the wall and the Folger’s can is empty, no longer filled with Brach’s candy. Rusty gave it all away. General Douglass MacArthur said, “Old soldiers never die; they just fade…… Continue reading His Folger’s Can is Empty
A Choir of Donkeys and Angels
Music expresses that which cannot be said and on which it is impossible to be silent. ~ Victor Hugo I had a reputation as a youngster that enshrouded me like cigar smoke hovering over Churchill on a still summer evening. I sang pretty well. I sang because my church sang a capella and everyone sang. If…… Continue reading A Choir of Donkeys and Angels
Saying Goodbye to Jimmy
He said goodbye in the same graceful and light-hearted way that he lived, revelling in his answers to aggressive sales folks on the phone when asked why he was cancelling his phone service or subscriptions, “The reason I’m cancelling is I’m dying, I’m going home.”
