• 2018

    Less: Sugar, BBQ, burgers, fries, pastries, nachos. More: Vegetables, water, stopping when I’m full. Less: Staring at ceilings at 4:02 a.m. More: Stretching, breathing, Yoga, hiking. Less: Social media. More: People. Places. Things. Less: News. More: Music. Less: Couch time. More: Road time. Less: Talking about writing. More: Writing. Less: Clutter. More: Space. Less: Running… Continue Reading

  • The Silent Horns of Emotional Freight Trains

    I’ve seen the look before. It’s the loving smile, with a touch of distant stare. It’s usually spread across the face of a grandmother as she looks at your toddler son in the grocery checkout line. Only I’ve never quite understood it. Not until this morning. Not until I passed the little guy standing in… Continue Reading

  • I Like, Therefore I Am

    I like that one of my boys will get me an iTunes gift card for Christmas. I like that I already know the music I will purchase with that card. I like that it’s music I want to listen to today, but I will wait for Christmas morning. Because then, every time I listen to… Continue Reading

  • More Conversations With Baristas

    One of my all-time favorite baristas is sort of easing back into the game after having run afoul of management’s policy about, well, I was afraid to ask, to be honest. So he was out a couple of weeks. When I inquired about his whereabouts, I was met with sideways glances from skittish part-timers and… Continue Reading

  • Big Rides & Their Captains

    Imagine probably the cutest little old man you’ve ever seen. Sweatpants, flannel shirt, hearing aids. Gotta be pushing 90, complete with the huge ears sticking out from a ball cap whose brim is pulled down to his nose. He’s pushing his grocery cart past the in-store Starbucks. I’m waiting for my coffee, and there’s about… Continue Reading

  • When Mondays Are Sticky Topics

    Some awaken to alarm clocks. With others, it might be birds chirping, the sun rising, a dog stirring, your 17-year-old son cooking teriyaki chicken and rice — how one chooses to embrace the wild and wonder of another day is his or her business, really. In my case, my wonder was <sniff sniff> “What is… Continue Reading

  • Large

    My barber is what Southerners affectionately refer to as a Big ‘Ol Country Boy. He is, indeed, a large man. I’m guessing 6-foot-1, 240 pounds. A large truck. A large pinch of Copenhagen tucked into his cheek. The tattoo? “Wild Country.” And it’s stacked across the back of his neck, with Country extending from the… Continue Reading