I am writing on Friday night, but most of you will read this on Saturday or later, which means this wa the night to write about daylight savings. saving time some time in the night we will be robbed of an hour of sleep in order that we might save daylight the thieves will leave…
rain on me today was a rainy day to which the rain never fully committed the mist loitered without purpose the showers were scattered unfocused rather than pelting me as i walked the moisture wafted like a parachutist blown off course putting the whether in weather in it all I found companions in the raindrops…
spiritual practice start with intent make a promise show up and then miss the next day live with failure then deal with grace you did not write everyday this lent easter will come good friday too the season does not ride on you faithfulness and perfection are not synonyms saints miss the mark write down…
specifically, the time . . . you left a note you drove me home you called to check on me you paid my bill you dropped by to say hi you answered the phone and listened you called me out you came to Dad’s funeral you laughed at my jokes you said you loved me…
We are two weeks into Lent and I am finally getting to my Lenten Journal, my spiritual practice for the season. If you follow my newsletter, you know part of the reason is our little Lizzy! had to have her eyes removed to alleviate the pain caused by the glaucoma that blinded her. We are…
One of the cool things about Guilford is a biannual event called GreenStage Guilford, which is four or five days of various live performances around town. This year, one of the spinoffs was a periodic Open Mic at The Marketplace, a local sandwich and coffee shop. I signed up, of course, because, well, Open Mic,…
incremental this shortest day was spent contemplating two long-lived lives alongside of sons and spouses caught in the anteroom of unraveling that opens into grief I had no answers I hardly had comfort I had only presence and a few words a few forgettable words in the midst of discussing details I said something about…
poetic license I feel like a metaphor staring at a white screen not knowing what to write a week before Christmas or saying I spent the day driving through driving rain and wind that wreaked havoc and never turned to snow but it’s not the whole story I met a friend for lunch at a…
A little whimsy for a December evening . . . marshmallow farm here’s the thing many of us live near marshmallow farms without knowing they are rarities events rather than ongoing projects farms of fancy marshmallows mature stealthily hidden in fields of hay and are flash harvested to find them whole before they are cut…
My birthday gift this year was Burt Burleson, my most enduring friend whom I have known for almost fifty years. As a third-culture kid who moved around most of my life, I lost track of those I knew in my childhood and adolescence. Burt and I met in the fall of 1976. I can remember…