* Why write a blog post no one wants to read about a song no one wants to hear? I love American music. I also love British rock from the late seventies and early eighties. In fact, at that time—the late seventies and early eighties—I graffitied my high school and then college desks by drawing … Continue reading We had Such a Brainiac-Amour *
Author: Jeff Cann
The Dog Days
I see my vacation in the rearview mirror. A fading memory of a not-so-great week. (Eli’s injury, then illness, then an early return home. <<== Link). Susan scoured VRBO looking to rent a place at the beach for a few days as a family consolation prize. Apparently, a popular idea. No one vacationed last summer. … Continue reading The Dog Days
Boiled Frog
America is baking. As temperate areas push well into triple digits this week, the media reminds us that global heating is real. Just as real as it was five years ago, when I wrote this essay. After work today, I went for a walk. It's too hot to run, too hot to bike, kind of … Continue reading Boiled Frog
Been Drinking Brew for Breakfast
My brother Dana bought London Calling right when it came out. The 1979 Clash album hit the record stores in December. By the time Dana returned to college at the end of January, I was hooked. Our bedrooms sat across the hall from each other—his room facing the street, my room facing the back yard. … Continue reading Been Drinking Brew for Breakfast
Frenzy
Thanks to Jim Adams, for hosting Song Lyric Sunday. Each week my blogging friend Angie at King Ben’s Grandma plays his game. He gives a prompt (or a series of prompts) and bloggers write a post related to the prompt. Every week, I find myself writing long, rambling comments on Angie’s blog related to the theme du … Continue reading Frenzy
Resilience
Susan and Sophie drove off to pick up carryout. Look at us gamely gutting through our vacation. Resilience. I read a blog post comparing it to a coat hanger. When a coat hanger gets bent out of shape, you can bend it back, Heck, you can untwist it, fish your keys out of a locked … Continue reading Resilience
Postcard from Maine
Eli crashed hard. I assume. I didn’t see it, he speeded ahead when the terrain got dicey. Or really, I slowed down and he didn’t. I rounded a bend and saw him flat on his back in the middle of the path, his bike in the brush. I could tell he was OK. His head … Continue reading Postcard from Maine
All Roads Point North
We arrived at five-thirty. Hours earlier than I expected. As late as eight seemed possible, but more likely seven. And no, we didn’t get an early start, we simply had a smooth ride. Mostly. We pulled off the highway in Easton to use a bathroom. The blue amenities sign before the exit showed a McDonalds … Continue reading All Roads Point North
The Quiet Grace of Rosasharn Joad
Rosasharn: that’s a marble-mouth pronunciation of Rose of Sharon, the third or fourth oldest child of Ma and Pa Joad. Blessed with a beautiful name at birth, her whole family mangles it as if they've crammed a massive plug of tobacco in their mouth. Her age is unclear and hard to compare against her brother … Continue reading The Quiet Grace of Rosasharn Joad
Meat
Gasp. A running post! I can’t remember the last time I wrote about running. You know the adage—don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all. No one wants to read me spewing venom about my slow mile-pace, the dwindling distance of my long-run, the way I feel like I’m suffocating three miles … Continue reading Meat
Rain on My Parade
Take it easy, take it easyDon't let the sound of your own wheels drive you crazyLighten up while you still canDon't even try to understandJust find a place to make your standAnd take it easy That’s the 1972 hit song Take It Easy written by Jackson Browne and recorded by the Eagles. I loathe both … Continue reading Rain on My Parade
Killing Another
We crammed into Scott’s office, six or seven of us. Wasting time, shooting bull, gabbing. Shelly was there, Gerard, the other Scott—Scott Van-Something, the Irish one from Boston. Me too, obviously, and a couple of others, the normal crowd. The conversation ranged as it usually did, free-flowing, following unpredictable paths. Details are murky, this happened … Continue reading Killing Another
Brood X
The entomologists call them Brood X—the United States' east coast seventeen-year cicadas. The name appeals to me, reminiscent of a late-seventies punk band. Each generation emerges from deep underground, molts, mates, lays eggs and then dies. Their path to sexual maturity extending longer than even humans. Their bizarre life-span leaves them without an obvious predator. … Continue reading Brood X
Queen of the Coast
Queen of the Coast by Laura Cantrell, so beautiful it makes me ache. Susan often talks about the divine. Specifically, musicians being touched by it… the divine. Her favorite example is the Beatles—really just John and George. I need to think about that, my favorite Beatles song is Don’t Pass Me By, written and sung … Continue reading Queen of the Coast
Jeff and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad (Medical) Day
Do you know this title reference? It's from a kids' book. I don’t know the story: Alexander’s Super Bad Day, etc. I never read it as a kid. By the time the book came out, I was too old for it. And somehow, as a parent with two young children and a serious read-aloud addiction, … Continue reading Jeff and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad (Medical) Day
Blaiku
Blossom blizzards blowbelow blust'ry blissful blue,blanket blushing blooms.
Questions with Jeff
Do you talk to yourself? Years ago, I took on an accounting position that sat vacant for eight months. My new desk languished in a sea of paper—two-hundred-forty stacks of daily accounting records waiting to be entered. Each day’s data took five to ten minutes to input unless there was a variance to research. There … Continue reading Questions with Jeff
Sheena
Sheena’s gone; Roz has diabetes; King Tut, cancer. Last week, I wrote about Tommy’s sudden laryngitis. I worried it could be—as cat-laryngitis sometimes is—the onset of a serious illness. Clearly, I worried about the wrong pet. Last night, Susan walked by Sheena’s habitat. “Oh no, Sheena died!” Sheena’s the corn snake we got when Sophie … Continue reading Sheena
The Wait
Every conversation is pretty much the same. “Mao?” *“Mao.” “Meow?”“Meow.” “Mew?”“Mew.” This goes on as long as I want. Tommy loves to talk. Typically, water is involved. He sits on the vanity at the edge of the sink, neck extended like a duck or a goose and rubs his head on the faucet, waiting for … Continue reading The Wait
Meditation
Jeff Cann, Meditation Practitioner. Cool title, maybe I should print business cards. I toyed with calling myself a meditator—Jeff Cann, Meditator—but I don’t like how it sounds. And who gets to decide which words end with or versus er? We’ve got bakers, renters, fighters and even practitioners. But then we’ve got meditators, mediators and aviators. … Continue reading Meditation
The Other Stuff 