Kittery, Maine. We wandered, caressing the ruins. Touching stone hewn before our grandparents were born.
More than a decade ago, I was walking to my car in downtown Santa Cruz. Coming toward me from across the parking garage was a man, he was crying. His hair was matted to his head and his cloths hung off him awkwardly. He… Continue Reading “Random Acts Of Kindness And Chinese Food”
The Little One One of my earliest memory from childhood is of playing on the floor by an old wooden lamp stand we had in the living room. My parents came into the room and towered over me, backlit by the bank of windows… Continue Reading “TBT-Ode to my sister or an elaborate excuse to tell a funny puke story. You decide.”
Have never known a manicure or file. And they are bitten rather than clipped. They have been painted less times than there are fingers to paint. In many places they are more scar than skin. The fingers on the right appear to have been… Continue Reading “My Hands”
Since my dad passed two years ago a great many things have changed. Most of these differences have nothing to do with my dad or his death. In some ways that makes his absence that much more surreal. In the uncharted country of time yet to come,… Continue Reading “On The Road Again”