Haunted Houses & Bars of Orion

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…… Continue reading Haunted Houses & Bars of Orion

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

Kitchen of Grace

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 basis with grocery clerks on Colorado avenue. In the midst of cooking, washing dishes, and…… Continue reading Kitchen of Grace

New York & Toronto: journal 1

Tuesday August 22 When my brother the doctor is not on call, he decompresses by setting his smart phone to airplane mode. I am on airplane mode at this moment, serene at 39,000 feet viewing the fruited plain from a 737, untethered from the constancy of digital connection and liberated from the tyranny of the…… Continue reading New York & Toronto: journal 1

There is No Middle Ground

I’m sitting in skybox 306 in the BOK center and the Broken Arrow band is playing Pomp and Circumstance as 1,137 Broken Arrow Seniors stream down eight aisles like ants who have discovered a donut on the sidewalk. This isn’t anything like my graduation except it was also in a gymnasium, where I sat by…… Continue reading There is No Middle Ground

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

The Heavens Dark Matter and the Andy Warhol Swing

Once in my youth, I felt heaven unreachable, sterile, a place of thou shalt not have fun, and my fervor was not equal to the pill-box hatted lady sitting in the pew in front of me blocking my view of a preacher imploring me to get right and ready to go home. Since I didn’t…… Continue reading The Heavens Dark Matter and the Andy Warhol Swing

Telling Our Stories with Both Hands

Karen and I have twenty-three children ranging in age from fourteen to thirty-three. We aren’t on the hook for college education on all of our children since twenty of them are nieces and nephews. But we do feel like they’re ours and that they bless us by calling us Uncle Brent and Aunt Karen. Sometimes…… Continue reading Telling Our Stories with Both Hands

Dancing Around the Costume Chest

Back in the days when my kids believed in Santa and my words had the force and weight to either bless them or crush them, our daughters and son indulged in make-believe, dressing up to become the character of their dreams through the magical powers of the family costume chest. It was magical only in…… Continue reading Dancing Around the Costume Chest