February 2012
2 posts
Preoccupied
The trick, they’ll tell you, is to quiet the mind. They’ll tell you that as if quieting the mind were some simple task like turning down the volume on the car radio or banging a broomstick on the ceiling to persuade the upstairs neighbor to ease up on the Black Sabbath. Would that it were so easy.
There are times when you find yourself alongside a cool mountain stream, just like in...
I ride
It’s 6:14 on a Monday morning. I‘m reassured by the sweep of hard white light skittering across the rails - my train is on time. Back at home, my girlfriend slumbers, having settled back into sleep after a drowsy early-morning goodbye kiss. My kids are still down. While they sleep, I walk the mile to the transit center.
My train is on time. With a pneumatic sigh, the doors open and...
January 2012
8 posts
The most important day ever
Your measured breaths, deep and distant, undergo slow metamorphosis. REM. Hypnagogic. Drowsy. Then, eyelids up. Drowsy. Alive. Awake. Outside your bedroom window is a symphony of birds, conducted by the breeze and by the alignment of the planets. Grasses wave as the wind rustles over slender welcoming blades. Drops of dew, left in night’s stealth, begin the process of evaporation as...
Afterthought
In the old days, when the dead were placed on flaming rafts and set out to sea, we would have had about a two-hour drive to the coast. We’d have taken a few cars - probably Mike’s Geo, because Mike didn’t go anywhere without the Geo. We may have hopped into Don’s truck, too, the way we did, with two guys in front and 4-5 of us crammed into the back, everyone passing a...
The Stick
Perhaps the thing that qualifies a place as memorable, or as a geographic feature, or a destination, is that there is something remarkable about it. It doesn’t have to be something “good.” The middle of summer in Death Valley is remarkable, and memorable, and there aren’t many people who would list temperatures of 120 plus as something “good.” But, say Death Valley, and everyone knows what...
The line
It’s nine in the morning, and I lie face-down and half naked on a padded table, my face squeezed into an open oval so I can see the diamond-patterned commercial carpeting that lines the floor of my physical therapist’s office. It’s nine, and I’m on the table because I’m over the line. One’s mind wanders when the ultrasound wand is greasily meandering up and...
Sticks and stones
There was snow this morning. Portland snow, drifting diagonally and full of false promise, white crust on the lawn, cats curious, cars full of people on their way to apocalyptic grocery store runs to stock up on things that they’ll be able to get just as easily on bare pavement tomorrow. We hope for snow here so we can talk about it with our internet neighbors, so we can laugh at...
Counterintuitive
It’s Monday morning, and it’s filthy jet inky black out there. Feels that way, anyway. I pull the strap of my bag over my shoulder and I head out the door. I put one foot in front of the other on these mornings. I give thanks for the lack of rain, or if it’s raining, for dry feet. The path is the same, every day… cross the street in front of the neighbor’s house,...
Cracks
There are some sounds in this life that are unmistakable - a car wreck, the cry of a newborn, the rhythmic pulse of waves against the sand - and, of course, the sound of a 30-ounce, 31-inch aluminum baseball bat tearing into an Ikea floor lamp. Last Monday, Sandi and I celebrated the 3rd anniversary of combining households and moving the entire circus under one tent. At this point, the inventory...
Fashion
When I look back on it now, I can see some of the flaws in my logic, I guess. But, at that moment, somewhere in the hazy miasma that was the late 70s, it made perfect sense to purchase a burnished leather watchband the width of a baby’s chest.
I’ve never really been much of a fashion plate, or even a fashion saucer. My wardrobe runs to the...
Boldly
Things I wish that I’d saved: Everything in my mid-70s closet. My baseball cards. And, most of all, my carefully-glued model of the Lunar Lander. I was a moonshot kid. When I was ten years old, Neil Armstrong, Michael Collins and Buzz Aldrin perched on top of a 363-foot cylinder of explosive fuel and were shot into the void of space, pointing toward a rendezvous a quarter of a million miles...
Jetsam
One of the best things about my job is that some of my clients are students working their way toward a doctorate in clinical psychology. One of the hardest things about my job is that some of my clients are students working their way toward a doctorate in clinical psychology. I have heard that there are therapists who don’t like working with therapy students. Apparently, those clinicians...
Peak Hike
We’re taking our break at Big Rock. Carl and Rob are lit in perfect chiaroscuro, the muted greens of the diminishing tip of the Rogue Valley laid out behind and below them. On cue, a hawk floats past on a warm updraft. Today, life is a warm updraft. Big Rock always feels like an accomplishment as we thread our way up the singletrack trail to Ostrich Peak. On warm summer Ashland nights, air...
Tough Day in Espanol
(I think this is my favorite parenting essay)
I left work early this afternoon and went to Riley’s school. It was the last day of her Spanish class, and the parents were invited to come and hang out. I got there a little early and greeted Riley as she entered the classroom. She was really happy to see me there. The kids sang a few songs and did the alphabet. They danced, and the teacher...
Here comes Rusty!
Today is Saturday, as many of you may realize after shaking off the effects of last night’s wild debauched carousing. For some, this means a day puttering around in the yard, trimming plants and mixing up large vats of Miracle-Grow in order to make your tomatoes look like they survived, nay, thrived following a nuclear holocaust. For others, Saturday means a trip to the movies after finding...
Retail
(This one is, like many essays here, old. I wrote it about 5 years ago.)
These are the things they never prepare you for in the parenting manuals. Here’s the hypothetical: let’s say you’re a 48-year-old man. Your 7-year-old daughter has a friend over for the night. In the morning, you wake up and somehow manage to do your yoga workout. You want a cup of coffee REAL BAD, but...
December 2011
8 posts
Skin
Mr. Peabody, set the wayback machine to the year 1974, if you will. You may recall 1974 — That insidious little fuck Richard Nixon was embroiled in Watergate (which was fine, in and of itself, but I hate that it has spawned the “gate” sobriquet for every single scandal since then), Ted Bundy was on the loose (not to be confused with Buzz Bundy, who did the bitchin’...
Hey Ho, the world needs another Tumblr!
So, I decided that I needed somewhere to put the essays and photos that don’t show up on my other blog.
I’m going to plumb the depths of my writings and archive stuff here. And, photos, maybe, as I don’t seem to be putting those anywhere anymore.
Please enjoy.