Dear Blog Followers: If you enjoy A Napper’s Companion and are interested in my views on politics and society, I invite you to visit my other blog, Matters of Conscience. And if you appreciate what you read there, please consider … 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
If only folks would pay as much attention to what they say and how they say it—whatever the medium—as yesteryear’s kids did mastering the stubborn capital “G” or lowercase “z,” how much better off humanity would be. Continue reading
What I have to say is important enough that I’ll share on my “non-political” blog.
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
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
A tea informed by anise, how odd and pleasing. And a paperback anthology of Immortal Poems of the English Language—the copyright nine years my senior—called me back to a self I’d left behind. The fragile pages smelling of an attic cost a quarter, I’m sure, in a junk store. The scent of heaven. 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 