26OCT 05, United States of America We were almost home when a round number fell out of the radio. I put my hand up to my mouth, remembered that I don’t smoke anymore, and put it back on the steering wheel. The traffic light ahead flashed to red, and we all stopped together. Looking straight … [more]
Gardening Children
1-November-2010 by 5 Comments
This evening, Smalldaughter read herself to bed with Robert Louis Stevenson’s “A Child’s Garden of Verses.” The last person who read that to me was my mother, a lean redhead with a lilt in her voice at bedtime belying the circumstances surrounding her. We never knew why she barely ate at the table, took her … [more]
After the MEDEVAC
26-October-2010 by 1 Comment
We turned in helmet, rifle, vest; packed Hollywood knife Stetson and spurs picture of a redhead’s smile and an ammo pouch with candy to send home without the teddy bear he told his son he’d keep.
Goyim Prayer
17-September-2010 by 3 Comments
A couple of years ago, I sent a note out to friends. Because it still seems generally relevant to my little life, I’ve reproduced it here (thanks to Gutenburg, Eli Whitney, Bill Gates et al for reminding us of the convenience of modular bits). Tonight begins Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement. I’m not Jewish, but of … [more]
Sky liar
15-August-2010 by 4 Comments
The wind was up, rain interspersed with sunshine. One of us was being a gentleman about it, and I’m sad to report it wasn’t me. “I dunno if you want to go up in this,” Justin said politely. “Looks like we’re off for today. I don’t want anyone getting sick.” “I don’t get airsick.” “Well…” … [more]
Binned
12-August-2010 by 1 Comment
Three days after I de-planed at SeaTac and rode home to peel off sticky, faded desert camo for the last time, I was dispatched by my exotically sexy wife to attend to her mother in the mental ward. In Texas. With barely a hug and certainly no kisses under our belts, it seemed early in … [more]
When I used to jog
21-June-2010 by 2 Comments
The last time I remember was along mud-sand walls, buff, sizzling tink-tink-tink not too fast, they can’t shoot for sour batshit, I ran, bowing under the weight boots tight, mags full hands sweated onto parkerized dust “C’mon, Joey!” and he laughed that way like a kid, immortally cheerful, fantasy blue-eyed love doll to the Kurds … [more]
"Jack Lewis takes the overall literary crown with his new book...there’s a lot more to Lewis’s work than what it feels like to ride motorcycles.” — Ultimate Motorcycling
"Insightful and from the heart ... a driven and much recommended look into the mind and conflict of the next generation of war veterans. " — Midwest Book Review (Reviewer's Choice)