How easy it is to complain
to think that
if only
I wasn't
finishing up my
day at 5
and having to travel
the only
route
now
accessible
as bridge
collapsed
and my 25 minute
drive
is now
quadrupled
and in that
I discover
the beauty
of
being given a
gift
that in that
spoiled time
my soul is fulfilled
and yet I complain
with smile in
heart.

Hello Stranger

I'm writing a film noir. Well, actually, my idea is that I started with the following post on Craigslist. The responses, hopefully, will become the rest of the dialogue:

Hello Stranger 29-m4m (The Juke Joint)

Hey, stranger. Our eyes met once again. You: tall, dark, mysterious. Smoking a cigarette as the air shifted and one could almost smell spring. I walked over to see if I could buy you a drink. A noise distracted me from behind and when I turned back around to finally meet you-you were gone. If, by some chance, you come across these words- say hello.

Ode To Linda

It's the
clearest thing I remember
Being near death
Fever of
108
for
a week
and my
Mom
and
Dad
there knowing
so very little
of death
and me
feeling
strangely
like I knew
everything
about it
and the
Elders came
and laid
hands on
fevered Scarlet
forehead
and
the
knowing
is what keeps
me
comfort
now
That I must
do good
for I have
no
other
choice.

Here I am
making kale
with bacon
and
Sweet Jane
comes
on the
radio
and I think
of the
school's custodian
sneaking in
picking up
guitar
and
strumming
Sweet Jane
in my
office
because
he knows
I
like
it
and it
is in
moments
like
this
that
I
smile.

Mrs. Lighthall would take us outside on whims brought on by endless days with 4th graders whose questions left her needing escape. We would sit around trees. Never any particular tree. Then she would ask us to, "Close your eyes and listen. Remember all the sounds that are here but you haven't heard because you weren't paying attention." And we would sit, eyes closed, listening, no questions. We would then be asked to hug the tree. And then back inside. I don't ever recall my classmates and I talking about this. It seemed normal enough. I still have to close my eyes sometimes in order to notice what I am missing.

I thought
it was
the polaroid
faded into
colors
that transported
me back to you
curled
corners
and
all

I thought
it was
my whisker's
smell
as I
scratched
finger tips
into
them and
held them
to
my nose
and you
were
there
drifting
by

And then
talk of
spring and I am there
being
chased by
newborn colt
both of us glistening
black
in the promising
breeze
as
tiny
ice
cracked
under
your
presence

And
in
the smell
of a
pipe

And
the
smell
of
hay

And
in
a card
game

And
stories
of
living
next to
a
cave where
Jesse James
hid out

And
a trip
to
California
where you
put the
top down
the
whole way

And
the
smell
of hogs

And
how
you
never
seemed
satisfied

And a
trunk full
of medals
and stories of
you being a
paratrooper
and
falling
into crimson
German
skies

And this
feeling of
missing
you.

Another page turned.

What shall I gather?

What shall I get rid of?

On this step forward.......

"If you want your life to be a magnificent story,

then begin by realizing that you are the author and

everyday you have the opportunity to write a new page."

-Mark Houlahan

I've always enjoyed landmarks. They enable us to set our sights on different courses.

Well, I just got back from Como. Smelled some dirt. My favorite part was a kid in front of me who tripped over the edging in the sunken garden, fell into an azalea bush, demolished it, and stood up covered in dirt and kept on walkin'.

02/02/08

This time
this year

I am thinking
about my
grandfather

hearing my
laugh
just before he
passed

I was
not
there
in my carbon

but my
laughter
had
stayed

and
hung
around
in
spoiled air

and
drifted
by

Francis Bernard Beaubien

as
he decided
to
soar.

I love my friend Linda:

february
kevin and i finally admitted to one another something we had been feeling for a long time. after knowing each other all these years -- the truth finally came out. and we feel so relieved.

we hate february.

the truth is, that even though our birthdays are in february, it doesn't make it any more fun. at last! we feel the freedom of facing the shameful and buried revelation that, all our lives we have feigned a love for february. it is our birthmonth! presents! cake! stuff!

fuck that.

turns out we were the only two who loved february. or thought we did.

we finally realized that...

...january brings relief from the holidays, powerful resolutions, fires of birch and oak, pots of stew, and the super bowl.

...march brings temperatures above 40, sweet smelling mud, an occasional snowstorm that comes and goes quickly, and the anticipation of apil. APRIL!

...february brings...cold. cold. cold. darkness. impatience. stale air. tired sweaters. dirty snow. and valentine's day: a Hallmark holiday which presents to each of us either an obligation or an insult. and one more thing about february -- most people mispronouce it (feb-YOO-ary). hate that!


but kevin and i, we feel better. we plan to celebrate our birthdays together with a winter meal of coffee-rubbed bison short ribs, garlic mashed potatoes, smokey greens, and cake. lots and lots of cake.

happy birthday sweetheart! i hope you like your present. love you always.