On the 38th Anniversary of my Father’s Death

Today is the anniversary of my dad’s death.  He died at the age of 38 which means he has been dead as long as he was alive. A whole lifetime has gone by and yet somehow it seems like yesterday. That’s grief for you though—it refuses to obey the dictates of time. Here’s a piece

Oh, If I had a Thomas A. Swift Electric Rifle

For all of view who receive this by email, click here to view this post in its natural habitat. I need a taser. I have been thinking about this for a long time, like almost a week now, and I’ve come to the conclusion that people would be more apt to come around to my

Psycho mama, qu’est-ce- que c’est?

Yesterday, my daughter and I went on our first bike ride together. She has just learned to ride, and we thought we would take the bikes to go the video store. It was supposed to be a fun time. An empowering time for her. After all, this was her first real big foray other than

A little nostalgia and just in time…

Look what some beautiful soul gave us for Valentine’s day… But enough of the mushy stuff already.Nomeansno. The sweet sound of my youth. Okay and my adulthood. Nothing makes me happier than listening to these two sounds. Except for maybe listening to the whole album. And God knows I need happy these days. I don’t

Rage

Rage. I have some. It bubbles like magma right below the surface and is ready to blow at any slight provocation, any change in the emotional climate. Today it was set off by a variety of irritations, inoccuous in themsleves, but taken together caused me to turn into Mr. Hyde so quickly my children did