Showing posts from June, 2011

Another Piece of Me

I was back to normal for an evening but now there's another piece of me that has gone MIA There's traces of him here and there wrappers, magazines, a rogue Nerf dart I wonder if he has any idea of how much I miss him or love him? Today I felt like an amputee missing an arm after just having my leg reattached on Saturday He's likely been gunned down in a paintball firestorm and has a tale to tell of the shot he took in the neck I miss him breaking into song while camped out on the laptop or riling the dog right before bedtime In two days he'll return from Jesus camp and the peace I have will be replaced by the piece I'm missing.

Shaving in the Pacific

It is gorgeous out today. 75 degrees and no humidity. It is San Diego gorgeous. That is absolutely my favorite city on the planet and when we get a day like today, I long for San Diego. I would live there in a minute. Unfortunately, on my salary, I'd be living in a refrigerator box and driving a shopping cart with one squeaky wheel. My address would change daily, a little like odd/even parking. It would be tough pressing my shirts when every day after work, they would get stored in a big garbage bag, along with my mismatched socks. I would love the weather, but my beard would eventually take over my face, as I'd have to shave in the ocean or in the sprinklers, which only run at night in the city. Ocean shaving would be tough, especially when the jellyfish are mating or migrating to Los Angeles. They sting your calves, and swatting them with an Atra razor does little good. I could probably eat pretty good because I'd have no mortgage, rent, car payment, cable, internet,

In and Out of Country

Summer came in at about 120 decibels today, pretty much from sunup to sundown. It started with my neighbor's son re-roofing a small portion of their roof for the second time in less than 3 years. It seems he's a country music fan and like most people working on the outside of their house, he likes his music on the loud side. Now I don't want to sound like Clint Eastwood in Gran Torino, but you see I have a thing about country music. I'm just not a fan. Never have been. Can't be. Won't be. Tried it. Don't like it. Never will probably. Keep thinkin' it might grow on me. Doesn't. Just grates on me. So I am likely to be accused of being labelled as un-American, or perhaps a socialist for saying such a thing, but hey, it's a free country. If it could be a country-free country, well, that would be even better. Don't get me wrong, I don't have a grudge against people who love country music. I don't understand their allegiance, but the

A Little Piece of Me

There's a little piece of me on an Island far out in the Caribbean She's got my DNA my long legs and some say my face But she's on an island in the Caribbean and I can't even call her I wonder if this piece of me has any idea how much I missed her today? I have a picture of the piece on my desk and it helps to look at it But the island thing in the Caribbean makes the rest of me sad again I know she's probably doing fine so far away but me...not so much In four days she'll leave the Caribbean island and return to me my peace

A Longing In My Heart

My daughter is gone. She's a couple thousand miles away and I miss her. It is amazing how quiet a house becomes when it goes from 4 down to 3. She's a pretty quiet girl anyway for the most part, but I really miss her presence. It's spooky quiet most of the time, even with Ben and his friends over. It's like the house is missing it's furnace or something. Something major like that. There are moments you forget it's there, but without it, the house just isn't complete. She is in the Dominican Republic in Jarabacoa on a mission trip for church. She wanted to go of her own accord, and we weren't about to stop that. Anytime one of our kids wants to do a church event, especially of this magnitude, we aren't going to do anything but get behind it fully and completely. I think it's important for her to see what real poverty and need is like, even though I think she has a much better understanding of it than most 15 year old girls, and I'm not ju

Among the Monks

I spent last weekend at the AllWriters Retreat in Techny, Illinois. It was a great weekend, away from all distractions with large chunks of time where writing was the main focus. I got down there good and early and settled in to my room in the "Maria House" dormitory where most of the weekend was spent. It was actually what made up the convent of the entire complex, which is quite large. The grounds included an enormous, beautiful Catholic Church that brought back many memories of the church I grew up in in Minnesota, namely St. Lukes , which oddly enough has been renamed to St. Thomas More. I'm not sure how or why they renamed it. It's a little like the abolition of limbo . How does that happen, just all of the sudden?  You take something that people have believed in for years and say, well, it never really existed after all. What? I would think that St. Luke would be a little hacked off by the slight, myself. The grounds of the place were beautiful. There was a

Smoking is so....Regal

A couple of weird things happened today that have been rattling around my head, so I thought I'd get them out by writing them out. I was in the store today and in front of me was a gentleman who asked the clerk for a carton of Pall Mall unfiltereds. Now for starters, I didn't even think they made those things anymore. I seriously think it's a misdemeanor to smoke them in 9 states. You need a permit in 6 others, I'm guessing. Seriously. Those things pack a punch. In my twenties, I had about a half of one and got so dizzy I couldn't drive. Seriously. And this guy was buying a carton of them? I would think you'd need at least a doctor's note to even buy a carton of them. (Dr. Kevorkian in this case.) I figured this guy was aiming to end his life tonight. in a cloud of smoke, so to speak. Anyhow once I got past the fact that they still make Pall Malls , and that people still smoke them, I watched the clerk ring it up to the tune of $84.00! What??? I g

A Bit About Sisters

I realize I have given undue pages and preference to the brothers in my family, both in my BWCA memoir and in this blog, especially in light of what's been going on with Rob lately. I don't want to short shrift the other third of the family, namely my two sisters Pat and Jane. I also had a sister I never knew who died at age 5. I often wonder how any or all of our personalities would be different if she had lived to adulthood. I love my sisters as much as my brothers, that much is true. They both started their families at quite a young age. Us boys all started much later, so our kid's are almost like two different generations. I'm not saying that is a bad thing, it's just how it worked out. Pat and Jane's kids grew up with one another, and my own kids and the other three brothers' kids have grown up together too. In that sense, we have seen and done more with them than the sisters. It is in these emotionally difficult times that I've come to apprecia