Tag: Daughter
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Love At The End Of The Tunnel
[My photo. Elias leaves pre-K.] The longest and most uncomfortable, painful and seemingly endless flight I ever undertook began at 4:00 am on Monday, November 20 when I forced myself out of the bed. I forgot our wakeup call was for 4:15 am. Our flight was scheduled for 7:00 am. It was going to be…
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Playing Scrabble On Facebook With Your Daughter: The Agony And The Ecstasy
There is on odious, evil and insistent karma that floats and follows me everywhere. Like gnats on a hot afternoon in the Adirondacks, they follow me about in my own yard to plague my very soul. Gnats (or is it the equally noxious black flies?) that have been known to drive a tundra dwelling musk ox…
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Reflections on Father’s Day [My Split Personality]
My wife showed me the mirror. “Shall I toss it?” I looked at the brass Art Nouveau frame, just enough Erte to grab my eye. “No way,” I said. I was standing on the deck and I held the object d’art up and found my reflection. The glass was broken in several places. My face…
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Travels 27: Falling In Love Again [The Final Installment]
The highway is for gamblers, better use your sense. Take what you have gathered from coincidence. The empty-handed painter from your streets, Is drawing crazy patterns on your sheets. The sky, too, is folding under you And it’s all over now, Baby Blue. –Bob Dylan “It’s All Over Now, Baby Blue” Carpe R-Pod.…
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Travels 12: A Rest Farewell
And though the line is cut, It ain’t quite the end, I’ll just bid farewell till we meet again. —Bob Dylan “A Restless Farewell” I’m sitting at Erin’s breakfast table composing the final post of our visit to Orting. In an hour or so we will be on our way homeward. The route back is…
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Pacific Northwest Interlude: It’s Almost That Time Again
I’ll be waiting when you’re ready to love me… I’ll put my hands up. —Adele from I’ll Be Waiting. I’m sitting at the kitchen table of my daughter Erin’s house. I just made a Scrabble move against her. She’s sitting at the breakfast counter making Scrabble moves against me. It’s not that we don’t talk,…
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Pacific Northwest Interlude: A Song. A Journey. A Metaphore and a Memory
Sitting at the kitchen table, I can see my daughter, Erin and her husband watching a mute TV while a song is playing on an iTunes mix. Bob is a musician. He plays the drums and he has an encyclopedic knowledge of most kinds of music I could ever run across in my lifetime. I…
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The Odyssey Westward: Travels Part 1
Go my sons, put away your books. Buy yourself stout shoes. Walk the hills, the mountains, the valleys and the deserts. In this way, and no other, can you learn of the world and its ways. –Paraphrased from a quote on a 3 x 5 index card clipped to the dashboard of a ’60s VW…
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