On my way to the compost tumbler this morning, carrying a bottle of urine....  Why go on?  With an opening line like this, is there any need?  All that could be said has been said.  This is my life.  And I have one.  Surely, there could be no better evidence than this.  I do what needs to be done.  Things get done in what Frank Sinatra called 'my way.'  And yet the way is not solely mine, for this transmission grows out of a conversation with my 30-year-old Read more [...]

The Day

One of the benefits of a sound cry is a sound sleep, which held true until about 4:30 AM, after which the eyelid demons pinned themselves open, and all was lost.  At least in terms of sleep.  As for the sound cry, well, perhaps not sound enough.  Mind you, my sister had prepared me rather well for this.  The strange effects of Oscar Hammerstein, and I must principally credit him, though the ur-melodies of Richard Rodgers do get under the skin, any skin, any epoque.  Even Read more [...]


On a gray day, overcast in more than one sense, Jane at work, me at is where I go, as they say.  One of the recurring memories.  Not pleasant and one that evokes lingering resentment, a grudge.  I bear a grudge.  And 'bear' is the word.  Because it weighs something, too much in fact.  So what is it?  Oh, a silly meeting at the local high school, years ago.  I was employed there, by the parents' foundation.  To help with public relations.  Read more [...]


There is a new certainty about it, that is the thing that is different.  And behind that sureness?  Something steadfast and the loss of fear.  The reason to talk about it with others, not so much insight as sight.  There is no other way to see if, and when, something changes.  Dialogue provides a reflection, a bounce back, an image.  Anyway, whichever way, I can feel it now, as the date draws near...some shift in the recognition of Marlou's death, and by extension, my Read more [...]


Sleep had been slow in coming as the night began, and now a sideways glance at the morning clock shows that it is quick in ending.  For I have heard the Caltrain sound, the diesel equivalent of a cock crowing, know that it is after 5 AM when the first northbound rumbles by and have known this for at least half an hour, not quite looking the time full in its face.  Splendid.  6:35 AM, and the train sound was not the first but the third of the day.  I swing my legs off the edge Read more [...]

Let it be

I don't mind rolling out to the garden to have a look at things, but I do mind the desperation.  It is as though the lettuce and spinach and brussels sprouts, all rain-dappled and sparkling, contained the only life.  Jane's comings and goings these days, correspond to the coming and going of my spirits, an unaccustomed level of dependency, embarrassing even to consider.  So it is.  In the garden?  Well, whatever it takes, I say.  The garden, a roll to Trader Joe's, Peet's.  Read more [...]