Something weird happened. After work this evening I went for a run. That’s not the weird part, I do that all the time. Eli and I are taking a longish bike ride tomorrow so I wanted to save my legs—my run was really a slow jog. That’s not weird either. I recently started following the … Continue reading 80/20
Author: Jeff Cann
I don’t care. I love my new truck.
Whoa. I bought a truck. Typically, I’d name a post like this as part of my cliffhanger collection—Cliffhanger pt. 5 or something like that. A time to catch readers up with what’s going on in my life, but I hope to do something more with this. More than a catch-up. Maybe cover some new ground. … Continue reading I don’t care. I love my new truck.
Mission Accomplished?
Irony makes me smile. Tomorrow, I drive to Gaithersburg, Maryland, maybe eight miles from where I grew up, to complete my transformation into a Pennsylvanian. We’re going there to look at a pickup truck. I moved to Pennsylvania fifteen years ago looking for an escape from urban life. Although, my childhood in Rockville, Maryland could … Continue reading Mission Accomplished?
Coming apart at the seams
Remember when news was boring? It wasn’t long ago, six maybe seven years. I googled the biggest stories of 2013. The Boston Marathon bombing—that one was huge. Things get pretty tame after that. Lance Armstrong’s doping scandal and Prince George’s birth. Those are a couple of the more notable stories of the year. Midday today, … Continue reading Coming apart at the seams
The American Way
I’m tired. Really tired. Worn out. I’ll make my case, and you can roll your eyes and tell me to buck up. People have infants, or children with special needs, or two jobs, or three jobs, or an active social life. People are busy. People are used to being busy. I’m not. The week that … Continue reading The American Way
Mixing metaphors and massive thoughts
Transform from a body at rest into a body in motion. Imagine a banquet table, round, eight feet across, ample seating for ten or twelve. An array, a menu of choices heaped upon the table. Not food, but aspects of my life. The one I want, for myself, for my family. The table must be … Continue reading Mixing metaphors and massive thoughts
The Drop Off
“Oh!” "What?" "I think I forgot my shoes." Flashback to twenty-five minutes earlier, Sophie walking out of the house barefoot. Me: “Hey, are your shoes in the car?” Eye roll. We just got back on track. Not from the shoe incident (although we did return home to get her shoes) but from a missed turn. … Continue reading The Drop Off
A Final Hoorah
I like the word flurry. Flurries are chaotic but benign, exciting but ultimately of little consequence. Flurry sounds fun; it rhymes with scurry. Scurry might be the most playful word I know. I just ate a Dairy Queen Blizzard, so of course I’m thinking about a McFlurry (MacDonald's knock-off version of a Blizzard). When she … Continue reading A Final Hoorah
Forerunner 35
I threw my watch away two months ago. The band was broken, duct taped, and broken again. I last connected it to my computer in 2014 when I got the error message ‘software no longer compatible.’ I can’t remember when I bought it. Eli, now fifteen, was maybe in kindergarten. The running store where I … Continue reading Forerunner 35
Cliffhanger No. 3
Cliffhanger. Do people know this word? My generation does, and those generations before me. It’s old fashion-y, like nickelodeons and world’s fairs. Nickelodeons—I just stumbled on this word while I looked up the etymology of cliffhanger. The first cinemas were called nickelodeons—back around the turn of the century (the prior one, old fashion-y, remember). People … Continue reading Cliffhanger No. 3
A Second Civil War
I’ll be happy when Donald Trump realizes: No, he’s not exceptional. It’s incredibly satisfying going through life believing you know more than everyone else. I used to believe this. Maybe not that I was the best, but certainly in the top ten percent. I call this thirty-itis. It’s an inflammation of the brain. In your … Continue reading A Second Civil War
Dear 1990s Jeff
Dear 1990s Jeff, Consider this fair warning, 2020 is totally fucked up. Can I swear at you? I know you swear frequently, I remember that stage in your life. I don’t swear anymore, except in writing where I have something of a potty-mouth, but only because written swear words carry lots of shock value—much more … Continue reading Dear 1990s Jeff
Target
Oops, I ghosted my blog. Last Tuesday, I freaked out. In writing. I ranted about my blood pressure, certain kidney failure and vertigo. I thought I was dying. I was so convincing, both of my brothers texted me the next day to check up on me. I got a dozen blog comments, all saying the … Continue reading Target
When things aren’t right
This happened before, years ago, mornings just like today, a common occurrence. Over-thinking. A bad night’s sleep. Shaky. Hungover. Dry heaving. Brain-fogged. I don’t miss it. At all. I’ve worked myself into a tizzy. Tizzy (noun): a state of nervous excitement or agitation. Nervous excitement sounds fun. I’m in the agitation camp. I’m worried I’m … Continue reading When things aren’t right
O.L.D.
Susan and I walked the neighborhood loop this morning, the short version, just as the world heated up. I planned to go running, something longish—maybe eight miles on the road or seven in the woods. But I didn’t gather my stuff last night before bed, and I didn’t set an alarm for the morning. I … Continue reading O.L.D.
Hush
I like music. After work, I stopped by Kennie’s Market to grab some stuff for Sophie. She had her wisdom teeth pulled this morning, and while the surgery went perfectly, she’s sore and deserving of a treat. She planned on a smoothie for dinner. I got some bananas and Breyers Fudge Swirl ice cream. She … Continue reading Hush
A Bubble
A bubble on my ankle, slightly red, hard to see. Itchy. Soft and squishy. Immediately I think it's probably a tick. Engorged and floppy, ready to be picked. Or a worm, burrowed, safe and warm, or spider eggs buried against the bone. Thursday spent standing in tall grass and weeds, in brush and trees. Just … Continue reading A Bubble
Abagunda
I have nothing left to say. Do you ever feel this way? I started blogging in 2013. Since then I’ve published at least one story per month, and one month, during a brief period of unemployment, fifteen. I’ve used up all my material, I’ve told every story there is to tell. For years, I did … Continue reading Abagunda
#BlackLivesMatter #NotMyBag
“This is my first protest,” I said. Susan and I drove towards the square, the sign Sophie made awaiting debut, it's birth, safely strapped in our back seat. I’m not demonstrative, I don’t demonstrate. I ponder, get pissed. I tell the world exactly how I feel, quietly, on my couch, through words, written, not shouted … Continue reading #BlackLivesMatter #NotMyBag
White Guys with Guns
Happy Fourth of July. My plan for the day was to get up early and go kayaking with Susan. The kayaks were already on the car. Eli went kayaking yesterday with his friend, Jonah, and we never put them away (the kayaks, not the kids). While it’s not a huge deal to load the kayaks … Continue reading White Guys with Guns
