Dear Alan,

              I realize now that I am the writer I want to be.  Short stories, poems, sharing my words with friends and family and people who care to read them.

              Making sense of the world, being present, letting go of the past.

              What do I need?  Companionship along the way.  Writers’ groups, writers’ conferences.  I probably would like to reestablish a daily practice, recognizing that flexibility needs to be built in somehow.

When did writing become…..

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This past winter, I wrote about feeling powerless, civil rights under assault, a lack of civility.  Feeling isolated.  Out of ideas.

This summer, I was visiting with friends and learned about Braver Angels.  Their mission is to engage citizens from both sides of the aisle.  Civil discourse.  I don’t consider myself an angel, and braver than what?  It turns out that Lincoln used the term when asking citizens to fight for the country.  Why not?

Then this fall, I found…..

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Every other day, exercise is a brisk three-mile walk, a little more than an hour.  It’s a wide-open space, plenty to look at, a chance to leave life concerns behind. Traveling through the countryside, greenery, ponds, dogs and cows, blue skies, windmills topping the hills, cars and pickup trucks sharing the road, friendly waves.

The trick is to look up.  Easier said than done.  Life concerns usually find a way inside my head, my chin drops, the pavement enters my…..

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Matilda and I are sitting on the living room floor of our St. Malo Airbnb rental.  A big girl now, 18 months old.  She signals that she wants to walk, words still a work in process, learning both French and English.  I stand, moving behind her, letting her grasp each index finger, taking matters into her own hands, leading the way. And we’re off, determination shining in her blue eyes, now smiling, moving onto the deck, stopping to wave at…..

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I’m losing my mind.  It’s not an all at once thing, just pieces at a time.  Sometimes they snap back into place.  The connections are looser than they used to be.  Maybe I’m going into the kitchen to get something.  I find myself there, wondering why.  I was supposed to get something.  Nothing comes to mind.

I’m trying to remember a baseball player’s name, playing Immaculate Grid.  Trivia about who played for which teams, hit lots of homers, stole lots…..

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I’m on a wandering assignment Eyes drawn to two Adirondack chairs Shaded by tree limbs inviting me Come sit with me Buddha beams

There’s more to see before I rest Walking along a cement path Past manicured gardens and brick buildings Placid predictable

My soul turns me around The chairs still empty Buddha unmoved moving me Sitting I take my place

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Guilt from indiscretions Wisdom from life lessons

Shame from transgressions Honor from intentions

Losses from duress Wealth from success

Pain from disappointment Hope for contentment

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Sitting at my desk, the countryside looks the same outside my window.  Gently rolling hills. Trees showing the first signs of spring.  Greenery replacing barren tree limbs.  Vibrant color where there was none.

Reading at my desk, the country is unrecognizable.  Wildly roiling voices.  News stories reporting signs of liberty ending.  Greed now the American Dream.  Darkness where colors once complemented each other.

Sensing the moment is more than just fleeting.  Hubris attacking humility, kindness ridiculed as weakness.  Rule of…..

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I’ve been asked to imagine five objects from my childhood bedroom and write about one.  Five easily come to mind with one standing out.  My black and white portable TV, positioned across the room next to my desk.  Rabbit ears and all.  It was quite a luxury back then.

One moment sticks out clearly.  The night of April 17, 1970, four days after my 13th birthday, the eve of manhood.  Tomorrow I would be having my bar mitzvah.   However, there…..

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I’ve been asked to write about one experience that I wanted to pursue that never happened.  Would I want to do it now if I could?

I used to love running, the feeling of abandon, the wind at my back and of course in my face.  I ran competitively in high school and the first semester of college.  The college guys were a lot better than the high school crowd.  We did “leisurely” 10 mile runs every Sunday.  I eventually…..

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