Bespoke

“Don’t tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass.” ― Anton Chekhov

@ourtinycottage

Latest Posts

  • Why My Son Doesn’t Look Like Cary Grant

    One of my best friends has a son who works at J.Crew. My son has a summer job driving the trash truck to the dump and he shops at Goodwill. But I think I’ve figured it out. It’s genetic. The… Continue reading

  • The Funniest People: George Johnson, My Hand Me Down Friend

    I’ve never wanted to wear my Father’s clothes. Which makes this scene surreal; college kids diving after my clothes like starving refugees collecting Cinnabons. I purged my closet over the holidays grabbing great clutches of cotton hoodies, denim jeans, flannel… Continue reading

  • The Touchdown Bunny Hop and Thoughts on Richard Sherman

    Did Richard Sherman of the Seattle Seahawks offer a sincere handshake to Michael Crabtree in the heat of the moment and was his comment, “Hell of a game, hell of a game!”, real? Only Richard Sherman can answer that. He… Continue reading

  • 100 Years of Furious Indifference

    My maternal grandmother died three years ago, January 20, 2011, at the age of ninety-nine. She would have celebrated her 100th birthday May 1st, 2011 so I’m rounding to 100. I miss her…miss seeing her, hearing her laugh, gathering counsel… Continue reading

  • Merry Christmas 2013!

    The advent of Facebook has relegated Christmas letters to the category of sleigh rides and blinding silver tinsel, not that I don’t enjoy those, but it’s just easier to push a button. So here goes, a Christmas letter selfie opening… Continue reading

  • Magical Monotonous Christmas

    At the age of four, I doubted Santa for the first time. Not his girth or beard or constant jolliness, but rather my own worthiness to receive his gifts, and the weight of guilt rang in my ears with every… Continue reading

  • Table in the Son

    When you are young and the world is your oyster, older folks are wont to lend much wisdom thus rendering the use of knives to open the sublime stubborn shell, rather useless. As if allowing youngsters to pry open oysters… Continue reading

  • 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… Continue reading

  • Thanksgiving Man

    Yesterday I experienced two moving moments. One was simple, a man walking along a sidewalk in my hometown. He was arguing passionately with someone, but he was totally alone, his actions said that he was invisible, and I felt sad.… Continue reading

  • 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… Continue reading

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