Browsing Category: Journal Pages

               “Dad, can we go for a ride?”                “Dad, can we play catch?”                “Dad, can we play ping pong?”                “Dad, can we build a fire?”                One day, the questions will end.  Love him, and them, while they’re still there—and we are wanted.

                New Year’s Day, late morning, my daughter fills a water bottle from kitchen sink.  Workout clothes, her hair in a ponytail, “I’m going to get a workout in,” she tells me.  “I’m doing Seventy-Five Hard,” she shares on.  “Have you ever heard of it?”                “I believe I have.”                “It’s seventy-five days when […]

               Today is the Feast of the Holy Family.  It is a mass and celebration forever special to me for it is the first mass and moment when I felt, received, direct engagement of the Holy Spirit and God through reading of a scripture.                I sat in pew beside my father, and as it […]

        I sit in the dark smoking cigar.  There are Christmas trees of crab trap boxes lit at the end of docks.  A soft wind blows ringing wind chimes in match, and there are sounds of cars and dogs barking in the distance.         I wear a heavy flannel, feel the wind through […]

        Back east, I went for a run this morning wearing off flight and letharg of many meals.  It felt good to move.  In sky, I listened to a sound I love: flight after flight of geese in song, in rise from harbored sanctuary of the open tidal rivers of the shore for day feeding […]

               “Don’t be afraid to fail!  It’s the only way that you get better!” my daughter’s coach shouts to her from side of court.                Volleyball game, my daughter serves.  She’s winning point after point, but the team they’re playing is far from the toughest they will face, and while hitting target places on the […]

               I know what I ought to do.  That doesn’t mean I will or that, doing, I’ll succeed.                I ought to sign off.  I ought to sign out—be done and away with the distractions.                 The attention isn’t real.  It’s just others killing idle time—no different than my own spend of what cannot be […]