That Introspective Push

Early morning and I am driving down a dark road on my side of the mountain with woods on either side of the road, a cold full moon overhead, and I am very much alive with nothing but me and my thoughts to consider. It is quiet for now. I am thinking about the paths I’ve chosen and how they’ve turned and where they’ve led me up until now.
I am not sure if I will ever Continue reading

Advertisements

The best Comeback Ever . . .

We forget that comebacks are possible . . .

It was a Monday night game on October 23rd in the year first year of our new millennium. I remember it well. The New York Jets went into the fourth quarter against the Miami Dolphins, losing by the score of 30 – 7. By all accounts, the game was over. Fans were leaving the stands and making a break for their cars to beat the exiting traffic and make their way home.jets

It was a Monday Continue reading

Letters From A Son: Christmas Eve

It is early morning, Christmas Eve, and I have been awake for a while now. I woke up in the middle of the night last night (again, of course) but this time was a little different from my usual bouts with insomnia. No, it wasn’t like that at all.
It wasn’t the usual kind of troublesome mid-sleep, wake up; I lay there in bed, my eyes close, only to open up again, and of course, I’m thinking too much about too many different things. Instead, I woke up and Continue reading

From Bedtime Stories for the Insomniac

Development

1)

I pulled on the coat-tails of an old memory this morning. It was a bad time in the young life of me. There I was, skinny and scrawny in a white tee-shirt that hung off my frame as if my body was a wire hanger. I was sweating from my underarms, pale-skinned (I swear looked more like greenish than anything) with deep Continue reading

From Sessions: The A-Frame Place

It goes back to an idea I had long ago, you and me, in a small A-frame cottage with a little outdated and antiquated kitchen on the ground floor that looked like something from an old dollhouse in 1963. It was as if this place had been sealed in a time-capsule and nothing changed, nothing had been updated, and its previous generation charm had managed to remain since the time it was built. The couches are the same, the small bedroom is Continue reading

Letters from a son: Dear Pop

I think about the farm most during this time of year. I think about the cold October and the snow, which began a few days before Halloween and the unsure fear I held when I walked in the main house for the first time. I think about the cold winter mornings on the farm and the early wake-ups, the fire watch detail in the middle of the night, and the barn crews that began before the sunrise, the punishment sanctions used to teach us lessons, the house Continue reading