A lot of people maintain strong opinions, but I’m not sure how to respond to Memorial Day. A good friend reminds his fellow Americans that there’s no “happy” in a Memorial Day greeting; that it is to be construed as a pensive remembrance. Another friend makes a cogent argument for cheerful remembrance, with a toast … [more]
On not giving a fuck
“Your husband fights dirty,” the email announced to Pretty Wife, and she was right. I do. I’m not my dad, casually and frequently ruthless but so cheerful on a daily basis that he personifies his own smarmy, self-assumed nickname, “Smilin’ Jack.” I only smile when I mean it, and I may not be able to … [more]
Scuffs and Patches
Smalldaughter’s tone was polite but imperative. It was the second sentence that moved me into a sprint that made my back quit hurting. I heard her voice echo down the hall. “Jack, I need you. “Ruby got hit by a car.” The girls’ trust is touching. I wasn’t as calm as they are when I … [more]
Weekend Dalliance
Felt a little guilty pulling up the Lynnwood Convention Center (exit 181B from I5 north, for those of you playing along at home) in a mere car, but I put a few miles on a couple of bikes this weekend and realized there’s a midwinter to middle age and it’s cold there. In the parking … [more]
Neighborhoody
Damn, but I hate it when people sneak up on me. NSTIW with my head under the van hood, poking at the battery terminals and trying not to short-spark my ratchet again, when I <heard a scrape / felt a shadow / turned around for no good reason> and there he was, scuffing his way … [more]
Old Ideas
This is an unconventional re-run, not a piece I wrote a while back and recently disinterred, but a speech prepared hastily (was there any other way?) nearly 25 years ago by a callow undergraduate looking for answers. Half a lifetime later, I’m a little embarrassed to put it up here — the confident righteousness of … [more]
Eight Bells on the Last Dog’s Watch
It was a short errand, but I put on my gear, anyway. Might as well pretend I know what I’m doing. We have a motorcycle ride scheduled for Monday, up along some of my favorite King and Snohomish county roads. I laid out the route on Friday morning. It’s a good one. One of my … [more]
The Living Season
My mother, who’s paid her dues in the nursing home – so far, thank G-D, not as a patient – calls January “the dying season.” Mom’s not a cynical woman. She is, in fact, a spectacular woman. She’s also a realist. Many of her post-adult charges held on to life just long enough to spend … [more]