My apologies to anyone named Chad. I don't write much about my relationships prior to meeting Susan. Possibly I subconsciously think these stories aren't interesting, but more likely it's a defense mechanism. If I don't write about past girlfriends, they won't write about me. Although Stacey, who I dated unseriously for only eight months, has … Continue reading Chad
Memoir
The Meaning of a Shriek
Our house was seventies suburban, solid hardwood floors but with drywall so thin I once punched a dent in it during an uninspired attempt to show my dad a bit of emotion. Each morning my father awoke early for work. He started every day with a shower. Everyone else had an extra hour to sleep, … Continue reading The Meaning of a Shriek
Ask Amy
Do you read advice columns? I do every day. The Washington Post runs a daily column by Carolyn Hax that I read while eating breakfast. As I crunch away on my Special K Chocolaty Delight cereal, the game I play is to compare my off-the-cuff response with Carolyn’s. Mine: a knee-jerk reaction to a seemingly … Continue reading Ask Amy
I don’t love yoga
Not Me I love to run. My feet gently tread the roadway or the trail. My relaxed gait allows me to absorb the scenery, focus on breath, and wander my brain. Running, every time, instills a sense of peace. I love to ride my mountain bike, primarily on the road, too many crashes in the … Continue reading I don’t love yoga
End Days
I stayed up late in those days, when our kids were young. Sophie in grade school, Eli still in preschool. We put our kids to bed by seven or eight. Susan followed around nine. I stayed up until midnight or later, reading or watching a movie. Dystopia was my jam. A steady stream of low-budget … Continue reading End Days
Potpourri
I used to call posts like this one my ‘cliff hanger’ series. A nod to my propensity to write about a life event, usually an essay steeped in concern over a probable outcome or inevitability, leaving the reader on a proverbial cliff. And then I never mention it again. Weeks later someone might ask about … Continue reading Potpourri
Grave Thoughts
“I dunno, maybe scatter my ashes up in Michaux.” That’s Michaux State Forest. When I think of the most peaceful place in my life, Michaux’s got to be it. Once, the beach topped my list, but now I believe peace is synonymous with solitude, and there’s just too many people on the beach. Plus, I … Continue reading Grave Thoughts
After Surgery
“How about pain? What should I expect while I’m recovering?” I asked the wrong question. What I should have asked is “Will it flipping work?” The other day, Susan drove me to the Lancaster Surgery Center, an hour-and-twenty-minutes away. A well-respected ophthalmological surgeon cut and shortened the muscles that control my eyeballs. This is strabismus … Continue reading After Surgery
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
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
I drank too much. That’s my excuse. I drank too much. I try to be an accurate reporter, a memoirist who remembers, but during that stretch, age eighteen to twenty-one, alcohol gets in the way. I’ll do my best, but I won’t guarantee accuracy. During my four years in college, among the hundreds of party … 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*
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
Phone Call from the Future
Something's going on, and I'll probably never get it… --- Song lyric from She’s Crafty by the Beastie Boys I amaze myself at how incompetent I can be. If someone asked me what traits I hoped I instilled in my kids, my list would be 1) Politeness, 2) Empathy, and 3) Competence. That’s the order … Continue reading Phone Call from the Future
Twilight Zone
Diane died yesterday. Diane is my stepmother, was. Or maybe ‘my father’s wife’ is a better description. They dated and then married while I was in my thirties, long after I needed mothering. Sort of—an adult, obviously, but still immature. At the family dinner the night before their wedding, I toasted my wicked stepmother, … Continue reading Twilight Zone
The Other Stuff 