writing
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Writing, Baking, and Making Toys
I’m writing a book. My daughter is baking and selling bread. My brother runs a wood shop, making wooden blocks for children. Continue reading
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What Progress Can’t Measure: A Ripe Life
My brother visited over Thanksgiving. He drove, sorry, he sat in a self-driving Tesla and never touched the steering wheel from Utica, New York, to Bartlesville. He brought apples from a local orchard. They were perfectly ripe—crisp, sweet, juicy. It… Continue reading
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Jair and the Drum
A boy sat on a low stone wall on the edge of Bethlehem as the fading sunlight sifted through the narrow streets like a handful of warm grain. He stood up and walked into the market between the stalls and… Continue reading
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Turn the Page
If I could do it all again, I’d be a journalist—back when reporters smoked pipes, wore cardigans, and called in breaking news from pay phones. Journalism runs in my family. My uncle Rudy Taylor, cousin Andy Taylor, and cousin Jenny… Continue reading
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The Parable of Spud Dinkins
Excerpt from the book Seven Hills: This story is fiction, though it feels true. One of my favorite childhood pictures shows me dropping a dime into an offering plate at Church. Mom, Dad, and my older sister watch solemnly as… Continue reading
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Redeeming Beelzebub
We have a cat I call Beelzebub. Not her given name, but one I feel she has earned, based on the trail of destruction imprinted on our household furnishings and her penchant for gluttony, which is, after all, what ole… Continue reading
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Living an Interrupted Life
For those wondering how I am, I’m better. The warm February weather helps. There’s also a certain kind of magic in a Margherita pizza, especially when savored al fresco under the slanting rays of a winter sun—my wife Karen’s happiest… Continue reading
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Trains, Plains & Peanuts
The remains of my Father-in-law were scattered to the four winds from atop Bowman’s Hill Tower on the Pennsylvania side of the Delaware River. Thomas Mason’s children loved this family getaway place near the spot where George Washington crossed over… Continue reading
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Digging Daily Dirt: A Garden Story
I’ve always wanted to be a famous writer, not prolific like John Grisham, but rather famously obscure, like J.D. Salinger, only with less baggage and regrets. Being famous seems like a lot of trouble. Fortunately, like most people, I’m famously… Continue reading
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