My brother is visiting from New York. I call him Doctor Zhivago for no particular reason, other than it has a certain zest like Seinfeld when he can’t stop saying, “Salsa!” Doc Toby has given our family thousands of dollars worth of free medical advice through the years. Sometimes his pro bono advice fits his payscale, like when Dad once complained to him that it’s getting harder to bend over and tie his shoes. Dr. Toby told him, “It will get worse.” My other brother, Greg, is more apt to say, “It will get better.” Greg is a preacher but … Continue reading It will get better
These are strange days. The earth doesn’t seem to be spinning as fast, yet the moon rises and we rest awaiting another day and the wonder of what shoe will drop next. It is a dreary Saturday with no sports on television, as the barbarians are climbing the walls, my retirement account is shrinking, and my daughter is texting me, “My world has been cancelled.” Join the club. Perhaps there will be a baby boom in 9 months. And yet we laugh at small moments of lunacy watching our cat Caney, straddling the living room sofa with her claws extended, … Continue reading Strange Days
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) which works out to 4 cents an hour. We should just be grateful for a medal and love of sport. Folks often ask me these days about pickleball. What is it? Why do I play? I often reply with details…the size of the court and … Continue reading Why Do I Play Pickleball?
My sister and I rode one of the last passenger trains passing through the Bartlesville depot. Grandma Taylor lassoed us onto that train because she wanted a break from driving her clunky AMC Rambler. She wasn’t great at driving and she was even worse at stopping. My nose collided with the cigarette lighter of that Rambler when I was 4 years old. Grandma hit the brakes and I slammed into the dashboard cutting the underside of my nose creating a scar that I only notice now when I shave. I grew up in a neighborhood miles from the railroad tracks, … Continue reading Riding the Rails with Harriet and Grandma
Lately I’ve been feeling like I’m 14 years old. Which is my typical maturity level, but no, I’m referring to the other cognitive signposts of that age. Take pickleball for instance. As I compete in pickleball tournaments and the competitive juices flow, I feel 14 years old once more. Seven matches later, I realize I’m not 14, because every joint in my body is telling me to find a chair. Which reminds me of a story my Dad told to me about walking downtown in the shopping district with all the plate glass windows and looking aside he saw his … Continue reading Haunted Houses & Bars of Orion
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 10 years old again, and they never seem to get to their children or marriage or faith or career. I asked by brother-in-law if he remembered where he was 50 years ago when Neil Armstrong did his thing on the moon. He was 10 years … Continue reading Tell me your life story in 4 minutes
People ask me, “What are you doing in Denver?” I tell them I’m helping Karen Taylor and Tammy Ross cook 700 meals for our youth group from Bartlesville, with very little refrigerator space which means I’m on a first name … Continue reading Kitchen of Grace