August 24, 2020

Observance

Tonight I sat outside in the unfamiliar terrain of southeastern Ohio, lit a candle, and watched the stars.

August 23, 2020

Pegasus

First memories are such peculiar creatures, these fuzzy impressions and garbled snapshots that teach us how to see the world.

August 15, 2020

Tornado

Maybe it was the barometer dropping, the rearrangement of air pressure.

May 24, 2020

Bell

Riffling through my small box of family memories, I came across a note written in an unfamiliar hand.

May 19, 2020

Dark

I remember watching the darkness in my bedroom when I was small, hypnotized by grey-pink flecks while I waited for sleep.

May 10, 2020

Seeds

I find solace in these instructions from Epictetus: do not say something is lost, only that it is returned.

May 4, 2020

Coherence

My grandmother was tradition personified, a west side Polish Catholic who served Saturday night dinners of kielbasa and fried smelt.

March 18, 2020

Quiet

There was a time when I would count how many words I said each day. At night I logged the number into a notebook. Sixteen. Twenty-three.

March 14, 2020

Communion

I needed to work with my hands today. To be reminded that I can make something that takes up space and serves a need.

March 4, 2020

Lamp

One of the finest things I own is a lamp with a stern brass pirate, one hand on his hip and the other gripping a long sword.

February 16, 2020

Lake

The 45th parallel is the halfway point between the equator and the North Pole, and you can feel the geography shift when you see all that big pine and cold water.

February 2, 2020

Birthday

I wonder if deep down each of carries a fantasy of one day becoming an ascetic or a mystic, some hardwired notion of stripping our lives bare and praying in the gloom.

January 22, 2020

Ravintola

I remember smoking a cigarette in the subzero wind while watching the lights of freighters on the horizon. I thought we were at the edge of the earth.

January 5, 2020

Information

I try to see the world through my father’s eyes, his sense that everything looked like science fiction.

The Last Year of My Father

After receiving a lung and transforming himself into a grand old man, my father slipped suddenly from this world.

The Prevention of Dying

I’d like to be a little beacon of joy for my father, chipper and zen and awake at six in the morning eating a piece of fruit. Instead, I stay up late reading Schopenhauer.