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

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

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

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

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