While Sweetheart and I were somewhere loud and happy Saturday night (a wedding), loud and not-so-happy things were happening close to us. In the morning, my friend Walter, a Baptist minister, posted this selfie on his way to his church. He invoked Nehmiah 1. By then, we’d heard the news. Riots had broken out hours after a police … Continue reading Police shootings, mob violence and the comfort of strangers: A Dispatch from Milwaukee
The house is so quiet. No one needs to go outside before we go to bed. There are no clacking feet in the middle of the night, the prelude to a trip down the stairs and outside into the dark. No one needs to go outside first thing in the morning. And no … Continue reading A bottle of wine and a cat: Surviving the first dogless days
I’m writing this with a view. Tuki is lying with her head on my outstretched leg. In two hours, she will be gone and I will be bereft. I’ve never had to put a dog down before. In between writing, I put my hand on her head and stroke the space from just above her … Continue reading Goodbye, Tuki, and thank you for 15 amazing years.
It's been 41 years since the day my father dropped my sister and me at school. Neither of us knew that would be the last time we saw him. Debby was in eighth grade and got dropped first. I was a freshman in high school, so got an extra six minutes of one-on-one time. What … Continue reading Memories of a futureless present in Urban Bucolica: a yahrzeit post about last words
Four Februarys ago, I attended two funerals in the same week. It was the first time that had happened. A month later I was in New York hanging out with my niece and nephew. My sister had decided to fly down from Edmonton during their spring break, and New York is always a great place … Continue reading Ruth Goldbas & Ernie Banks, who died old, and Baki, who died young
I used to write poetry. It’s been a long time, but lately, I’ve had an urge to start again. So it was interesting timing that my Christmas present from Sweetheart’s father and his wife was a volume of Seamus Heaney’s poetry. There are massive holes in my literary education. Heaney was one of them, but thanks … Continue reading Kelly Cherry, poetry and Mr. Perfect from the Neck Down