In this season of calendar and life, choices are before me. 1.) I can measure walks in miles and minutes, holding to old standards that now feel like a pinch collar. Or 2.) I can recalibrate myself, forget about increments all together, and laugh at my dog. In short, I can get either frustrated or philosophical. Continue reading
We’re born, we die. Should I have grieved this commonplace epiphany? I did, a little, but mostly I felt blessed as if by an afghan like ones my mother’s generation draped over the backs of their davenports. I took in Kathy’s stars one at a time and received hope. There’s no other way to say it. Continue reading
A festive spirit often accompanies weather that cancels school days. Staring slack-jawed at fat flakes riding the gusts and piling up at three inches an hour can feel like a tonic going down. If you’re normally able to get out and do as you please, being homebound can invite the soul to take a cleansing breath. Continue reading
The truth about songs of your youth is they raise your heart’s curtain. They do mine, anyway. Time punches the accelerator; neither you nor I can slow it down. My thumping ventricles make me dream of being saxxy, but my veins are in their seventh decade of service and feel each season peeling out into the next. Continue reading
My guess, late 1947, their first apartment, no children yet. Mom is seated, Dad standing over her shoulder, passing her hair through his fingertips. Their expressions are carefree, Mona Lisa smiles on them both. The instant is tender, the future a blue heaven of hope. Continue reading
Hardly anything is simple anymore. Children’s car seats now have expiration dates. Tiny screens are here to stay, but they anesthetize little brains. How long is too long? And, panning the camera for a global look, our climate is, like parents right now, under duress. Continue reading
You may have noticed that A Napper’s Companion has seen less activity than usual over the last eighteen months. I’ve been writing a book, the first draft of which is finally complete. The topic of my pile of 83,000 words is religious doubt and hope. Continue reading
He was restless and quivering on the 20th. The next morning Kathy and son Micah got him to the veterinarian in time for his last breath. Our buddy possessed a finicky digestive system, sensitive skin and his breed’s lust for the chase. He hooped endlessly. He was a lanky galoot. His forehead was glorious to kiss. Continue reading
What possessed me to start bellowing “Swing Low, Sweet Chariot” as I helped my mother-in-law, Edna, remain standing while wife Kathy and daughter Elena quickly changed the hospital bed sheets? I’ve no clue. Continue reading
Kathy makes Holmes—that’s what my wife calls him—liver treats. Mmm. Our house smells scrumptious when she makes the slurry of cow-organ and grain, spreads it on a baking sheet, and slides it into the oven. But you love a dog, and this is where you wind up: wrecking your kitchen in exchange for a few wags of a boney tail. Continue reading
A Napper's Companion 