Dry, pumpkin colored fall: the season to gather apples and grapes. Geese congregate before their flight south. Squirrels store food for winter. The whimsy of Halloween collides with bittersweet autumn. I lean into the tenderness of its melancholy contradictions. If we celebrate the harvest, then we must also accept the reckoning. Autumn cushions the fall … More The Last Bouquet
“Whatever is happening is the path to enlightenment.” Pema Chodron I am a fifteen year veteran of Multiple Myeloma, a blood cancer of plasma cells. The majority of MMers have a life expectancy of around five years at the time of diagnosis. Approximately 20% of patients with this disease persist longer. I’m on the lucky … More The University of Cancer, Part Five
“All night and all morning the air raid sirens howled. Shells blew up. We ate ice cream.” Olha, a citizen of Ukraine The seasons roll along. March slips into April. Winter melts away. Daffodils laugh a yellow laugh, their roots tickled by the warming earth. Covid comes and goes and comes again. It lurks in … More Springtime in Ukraine
“… since we must always have a suffering world, we must also always have a song” David Budbill It’s said that “a Libra’s purpose is to use its unbiased and fair stance to fight for the practical cause of the world and make it become a better place. They like balance and justice.” Hmm … … More Libra Lullaby
“… writing a song can be like chasing a wounded bird down a road.” Lori McKenna I’ve been writing cringe worthy poetry for more than 60 years. I’m always thinking in rhythm and rhyme, listening for the music in words. I can’t stop scratching the itch to write. My last post, The Indifferent Gardener, linked … More Anatomy of a Song
It’s the winter of life. Ads for funeral services pepper my mailbox. Mortuaries stalk people my age. The implication, I suppose, is that I don’t have too many decades left. It’s nice to be wanted. Eventually, I’ll buy what they have to sell. But, for now, I’ll wait. There are more songs to write. It’s … More The Winter of Life
Normally, this time of year, my wife and I would be traveling to San Francisco to visit relatives. Our son, niece, and my brother’s family live in the Bay Area. For the last several Christmases we’ve vacationed there. We take in a movie each day and dine out each night. It’s the perfect getaway to … More 2020
In September, smoke from wildfires shut down activities in much of Oregon. An eerie mustard colored sky shrouded the community of Hood River. The burnt smell of the air created a vacancy reminiscent to March/April’s sheltering in place. Eyes itched and stung; throats seized up dry and scratchy. People were dispossessed of how to pass … More What Next?
I live in Hood River, Oregon. The river for which it is named flows north from the foothills of the Mt. Hood National Forest. Its three forks converge ten miles south of town. My youngest son and his family shelter in place near that spot. From there it meanders through woods, pastures, and orchards before … More Sorry, We’re Closed
In the early spring in this year of the pandemic we live in a house on a street that divides the city from the county. The trees in the fruit orchards nearby are past peak blossom and west winds scatter their petals onto the pavement. Strangers walk by the house, in groups of two or … More Deserted Streets, Empty Spaces
Good Blood, Bad Blood 