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I’m on a journey back to myself. It’s early morning. I put the headphones on in bed, coming back after rising in the dark. I put a coffee house soundtrack on, connecting with the sound of their voices, not hearing the words. I’m a teenager in my basement, listening to the stereo, sidelined after a hard foul, breaking my wrist and our team’s spirit. I’m inside myself, beside myself. The taste of whiskey touching future lips.
I rise in the…..
Something calls to me
I pull into the driveway, a spartan charm surrounds the small ranch house, set back from the road, a labyrinth path in the backyard. I’m here for an appointment with an energy healer. Straight from work, clad in my suit.
We’re sitting in the living room, my first ion detox treatment, releasing the toxins in my body in a foot bath. There’s a heated belt strapped around my waist. Clear water turns murky.
Reflections of my…..
Bafia, Cameroon, November 26, 1980.
I’ve just returned home from work after stopping for a few beers and brochettes. I read over my letters and get ready to wash up when I see the green mamba. Not again.
Yesterday a black mamba joined me in the living room. With the help of two construction workers, we chased it with sticks. Somehow it disappeared through the kitchen. Remembering something about a board belonging under the kitchen door.
Today, I grab my…..
It’s Sunday morning, late September, blue sky, still feels more like summer than fall. I’m returning home from our annual college reunion party at the Jersey shore. One conversation on politics, mostly fun and games. I’m from New Jersey, Exit 13 on the Turnpike.
It’s about a four-and-a-half-hour drive back home, the rural hills of Pennsylvania a world away. Traffic is light, the Garden State Parkway relatively tame, people driving around the speed limit. I find my way through the…..
I’m running along the side of Route 283 in my suit, approaching the toll booth entrance to the PA Turnpike. It’s dark and dreary, a little drizzly. I need to use the pay phone. You see, my left rear tire decided to go its own way, bounding along the highway, landing in the median. And I need to get Ted Gaebler to the airport for his flight to LA. He’s the co-author of the groundbreaking book, “Reinventing Government.” We just…..
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…..
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…..
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…..
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…..
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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