Images used in accordance with fair use laws Walter Chandoha shot his famous photo, titled The Mob, in 1961. As the story goes, the Chandoha farm in New Jersey was overrun with cats. Because he fed the strays, they followed him around hoping for a meal. Once while walking down a dirt lane, he spotted … Continue reading The Mob
Introspection
Torque
Step, step, step, torque. I twist my torso, a jerking motion, hoping for a violent stretch. Looking for a pop. A release, like a knuckle crack, like that crunching sound Eli makes with his neck when he drops his head to the side. I torque the bottom of my ribs on the left, not quite … Continue reading Torque
Jellybeans
On Thursday morning, a swollen inter-department mailer sat in my mailbox at work. Are you familiar with these? It’s an envelope, ten by thirteen inches, brownish-gold, the color of dehydrated urine. You seal it by twisting a string around a fastener. It’s not for stamped postal mail, my name is simply scrawled on the envelope … Continue reading Jellybeans
The Meeting 2.0
When the meeting ends, no one stands. Chatter starts immediately. Each person turns left or right, and recounts the pending acquisition, or the five-figure facility repair, or maybe a tidbit from their personal life—a steady din with words and phrases popping occasionally above the canopy. “…from the budget…” “…proxy voting…” “…home for spring break…” No … Continue reading The Meeting 2.0
Did it count?
Killed it! Nailed it! Crushed it! Do any violence you want to it, but people gotta notice. If no one sees, did it really happen? Yes, this is very much like that tumbling tree in the woods… There’s a saying in my house when someone finishes a run or a bike ride. “Did it count?” … Continue reading Did it count?
Treasure
I don’t even know what to call it. A board? A plank? A tabletop? None of these do it justice. None implies the shear heft of this chunk of wood. I found it early on, exploring my new neighborhood, looking for idiosyncrasies or treasures in the alleyway behind my house, a hidden thoroughfare whose primary … Continue reading Treasure
Staring
The verb stare has two meanings. Opposite meanings. To look fixedly at someone or something, or to look vacantly. The intensity of the first cannot be denied—often, it’s accompanied by deep concentration or malice. There’s that ‘cold stare’ we offer when pissed or annoyed. It carries the weight of intimidation. Other stares contain anticipation, concern, … Continue reading Staring
Malted
God, how did I wind up at the Jefferson Diner. After our twenty-five-minute sidewalk wait, they crammed the six of us into a booth for four. Me, pinned to the wall with my shoulders angled to take less space. A wall-mounted mini jukebox sat above the table, face-height, eight inches from my nose. A wire … Continue reading Malted
Journal Entry: The Meeting
2/23/23: The meeting ends but no one moves. Well, they stand up, but no one heads for the door. The chatter starts. Through my hearing aids, it’s a din, a collage of noise, indecipherable. No one approaches me. I engage no one. I arrange and stack my papers. I glance at my phone. I contemplate … Continue reading Journal Entry: The Meeting
Cheesy Western all the way
During my four years in college, among the hundreds of party nights, countless nights ended with a trip to the “T.” On the far side of downtown Lynchburg, just before Fifth Street crosses the James, a divey burger joint clings to the edge of a cliff. Saturday night, between midnight and two, when not passed … Continue reading Cheesy Western all the way
Eight Ways to Improve Your Writing*
Six months ago, my career as a mountain bike coach ended with a sloppy tumble over the handlebars. My coaching stint was on its final lap anyway, this was Eli’s sunset season on the team. Now he’s building his own cadre of riding partners as a budding adult. And I got an extra forty-five days … Continue reading Eight Ways to Improve Your Writing*
My New Plan
Let’s talk about my diet. Not the foods I eat, but the weight I want to lose. When I quit working at the Y five years ago, I sat at an appropriate weight. Maybe pushing the upper healthy range on the American Body Mass Index scale, but, just like people always say, it was all … Continue reading My New Plan
Davey Fend
At what age are memories reliable? We lived on Ridge Road from ’67 to ’70, just four short years, but loaded with memories. Moving away in third grade helps me pinpoint my earliest memories to that house. I have a few that predate our tiny brick Bethesda, Maryland home, but those memories are snippets, snapshots. … Continue reading Davey Fend
Stewing Poison
Spewing poison. Do you know this phrase? It came to mind riding home from the doctor’s office tonight. I’m spewing poison! My mood sucked. Bad vibes leaked from my pores. Susan kept reaching over to hold my hand, not talking because I didn’t want to talk, not talking because she didn’t want to hear what … Continue reading Stewing Poison
The Conversation
Arrrr. This photo is unrelated to the story that follows... “I think I need to see Nicole.” “You’re feeling pretty bad, huh?” Who’s Nicole? She’s the only mental health professional I see. Tourette syndrome, obsessive compulsive disorder, general anxiety disorder, (rarely) depression, social anxiety. I should employ an army of neurologists, psychiatrists and therapists. Instead, … Continue reading The Conversation
Dead Space
I was twelve when Bad Ronald first aired. American TV network ABC played it as an afterschool special—a ninety-minute movie aimed at tweens like me. They loaded it with commercials selling cereals and toys and other TV shows I might watch later that night. I can’t remember the specifics, but I imagine a frigid January … Continue reading Dead Space
Alice and Sparkle
Alice and Sparkle, I’m diving in head first. Are you up to speed on this controversy? “Author” Ammaar Reshi created a children’s book, and people are pissed. Reshi started playing around with the new Artificial Intelligence text generator ChatGPT. On a lark, he tasked it to write a children’s’ book. Happy with the results, he … Continue reading Alice and Sparkle
On Personal Essays
Trigger warning: Disturbing description of childhood death. As we pulled into the parking spot, I found what I searched for all these years. Boxes and bowls trying to look haphazard, the kind Susan and I bought for our first house, shabby-chic; mailboxes, mouths gaped like baby birds begging for worms; a ladder, handmade, stolen from … Continue reading On Personal Essays
The Date
All alcoholics have a date. The recovering ones. When was your last drink? I’ve talked with people twenty years sober, they can pin it down to the hour. I can’t. I’ve never had a date, or never known one. It was a Sunday in January. The tenth or the seventeenth. Today or next week. It … Continue reading The Date
The Attack
Saturday afternoon, three o’clock. We still sit, all of us, in our family room, poking at our devices. We’ve done this for hours. All except Eli, he worked this morning. He came home at noon and went straight to bed. Everyone’s a little hungover. Last night was rough. It started with a screech or a … Continue reading The Attack
The Other Stuff 