Blog Archives

Everything is Not a Choice, Thank Gods

I find myself blessed to have a number of friends and a number of values and not so many friends who share my values. This is just fine most days of the week. I can be as Spain before the inquisition, enjoying a real peace among people who are really different from me. Occasionally something gets to me and I write a post like this.

One point of difference between me and many of my hip friends is the matter of choice. In particular my distaste for the predominant idea that we are, and aught to be free to make our own individual choice to our own individual benefit about every single thing from personal sized ice cream treats to whether or not to care for a dying relative. Read the rest of this entry

Summer People

When every single one just wants a little tiny bit more then what I am offering… Read the rest of this entry

Chip Away

He is a collector, finder, gatherer, noticer.

Bright red, hard working, a little bit of spittle always in the corner

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Trout

images-1The flash across the water was how I knew for sure that I wasn’t wrestling with underwater shrubbery. Read the rest of this entry

Peanut Butter and Jelly

All she wants to eat is peanut butter.

I’m trying to figure out breakfast on my ten minutes off the line of a busy french bakery. Peanut butter.

I’m trying to participate in an adult discussion about pizza toppings. Peanut butter.

I’m crying alone in my bed at night, feeling like everything is caving in and I am never going to be any use to myself or anyone else…

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Wascawee Wabbits

I live in a yard, in a lovely shed with a sliding glass door and one perfect window. It was insulated by a friend who lived there before me. She had fabric hanging from the ceiling because she hadn’t perfected drywall when she did the ceiling and she said looking at it reminded her of constant failure. That sort of thing doesn’t bother me the same way, so their is no fabric hanging from my ceiling. Read the rest of this entry

The Last Time I Saw My Grandma or The Last Great Watermelon Incident

I was 13 or 14 and just barely out of the house. I was visiting my grandparents on my Dad’s side. I was taking my niece, who was my brothers’ baby, to meet them for the first time.

I was on the floor in the front room with her while my Dad and his wife sat looking on in the company of my Grandma and Grandpa.

That floor was lovely; I grew up on it sometimes. And those laps, the laps of my Grandma and Grandpa, I grew up on them too. Read the rest of this entry

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