“One’s destination is never a place, but a new way of seeing things.” – Henry Miller I am the Mayor of Les Combes! Well, I was for a...

I don’t want your help. Leave me alone. I’m fine. “The inability to receive support from others is a trauma response.” Make a picture in...

On Tuesday, May 3rd, I returned from California after attending the wedding of Ashley and Michael. Ashley is the daughter of my dear...

Everything in the world is shaking. I keep a steady hand on my trowel. This week, I am planting ramps in the woods. This same week,...

“Let me disclose the gifts reserved for age To set a crown upon your lifetime's effort. First, the cold friction of expiring sense...

It’s Christmas Eve. I am 12 Years old. I have been a good boy this year. I am kneeling on the iron heating register and praying for my...

The world is not made of atoms, it is made of stories. There are stories we have heard or read, stories we tell ourselves, and stories we...

I don’t want to do this anymore. I am so done with this. How did I ever get to think this is what I was meant to do with my life? I am selling my home, property and what possessions I can shed for a price. The rest I will give away or abandon. I will find a home for the bees and animals. I first called them “my” bees and animals but they were never really mine. As for continuing prayer and meditation, I am undecided. It doesn’t seem to “do” anything anymore. I do not want to

Five years have passed since Megan died. On the anniversary of her death, I weeded and mulched the trees in the back orchard as a way of “dealing” with the sadness. Was that the best option? It was the option I chose as I simply do not know how to “best” deal with sadness. On my way back to the orchard, I sat on the blue bench at “Megan’s Spot” by the pond and cried hard. The kind of crying that doesn’t stop on command. The kind of crying that leaves you emptied. It helped, b

Kevin wears a red bandana around his forehead. He sprinkles it with holy water. He wears it all the time, even while sleeping. Kevin is certain that he will go mad if he takes it off. He is not kidding; he will hurt you if you try to remove it or touch it. I lost touch with Kevin years ago. I won’t forget him. How can you forget a tall, lanky fellow who wears big, heavy, black shoes and shuffles like Lurch from the Munsters and has a red bandana tied around his forehead? Kevi

Jerry handed me the shotgun. I had never killed anything before. Jerry stood off to the side with his two brothers, Ken and Steve. These country boys, sons of a soybean farmer, were going to learn this city kid, who was about to become their brother-in-law, a few things. I pointed the gun at the mulberry tree filled with fifty or so starlings. I pulled the trigger and as I tumbled over backwards, eight starlings fell dead to the ground. The laughter of my future in-laws could

“I don't like either the word [hike] or the thing. People ought to saunter in the mountains - not 'hike!' Do you know the origin of that word saunter? It's a beautiful word. Away back in the Middle Ages people used to go on pilgrimages to the Holy Land, and when people in the villages through which they passed asked where they were going, they would reply, 'A la sainte terre', 'To the Holy Land.' And so, they became known as sainte-terre-ers or saunterers. Now these mountains

At this singular spot on the Sea of Japan, bright blue-white bubbles float one or two meters above the water. As the bubbles burst, spoken words pop out. (pop) My (pop) name (pop) is (pop) Fumiya. Sakichi and Hikedo see and hear this and it sends fear into their hearts as they prepare to dive. They reassure each other that they must be imagining things as Fumiya has been dead for over two years. They are as sure of his death as they are of the bowline knots they used to secur

1. If your parents are dead and your only sibling, who is approaching 250 pounds and lives alone with 5 cats, invites you over for Thanksgiving Dinner, are you required to attend? Can you pretend that you didn’t get the invite? Should you respond with 7 things they should change before you will come to visit? Do you increase the amount of time you spend praying for this person? Should you bring a pie? Does this make you sad and wish it was different? How many times have

I know where John lives. I have visited. I do not care to live there. John was a friend of mine but after running my monthly “My Friends” algorithm (the 4th of every month), John moved from friend to acquaintance. He is now way below Brian, Laurie and George, two names below Mark, and one entry away from “You see, I’ve forgotten your name”. I developed the “My Friends” algorithm to augment my self-diagnosed deficiencies in establishing and maintaining relationships. The defic

Billy spits when he talks. All the time. This is annoying. What’s amazing is that Billy cannot read nor write. Billy works hard, almost as hard as Adolph. Billy and Adolph are the hardest working guys on the Norfolk and Western Railway section labor gang. A most unlikely pair, Billy is a white guy from just below the Ohio state line in West Virginia and Adolph is a black man from the east side of Cleveland. Adolph also cannot read nor write. Our boss, Leo Bobko, signs their p

Baba is leaning over our backyard fence. We are talking tomatoes. Baba lives next door with her son Richard, his wife Mary, and their nine children. Like my two grandmothers, she lives upstairs and her son and his family live downstairs. If these three women were alive today, they would, more than likely, be in “assisted living” and this story would end right here. I wouldn’t know the aroma of their cooking. I wouldn’t know some of the secrets that enabled them to live so lon

Hugh Creveling was my friend. I was Hugh’s friend. I have a host of friends (thank God) and a number of very good friends. Hugh seemed to have only one friend and that was me. I know this because when a Binghamton, NY police officer called me in December, 2012 and asked if I knew a Hugh Creveling, I responded, “Yes, why are you asking?”. He replied that Hugh had been found dead in his motel room and the only number on his cell phone that had been called in months was mine. I

After a recent post of mine, my cousin Barbara commented I should write more. “It’s a gift”, she said. Not realizing what she has done, she has placed the biblical curse of “unused talents” on me. Like many curses, when uttered you are not even aware it is a curse. What is this curse? According to the biblical story, we are each given talents and some measure of competency as regards these talents. Yes, we all (you too) have some talents that are unique in their manifestation

My friend Bob Carleton has experienced that dramatic change of address that awaits us all. He died on February 25th. Bob and I were friends at Padua Franciscan High School in Parma, Ohio. We were a quartet of young bucks (Bob, Bowker, Phil, and Brady) seeking our way in the world, employing such time-honored traditions as the Irish exchange of punches (at least that’s what we called it). In this tradition, you stick out your chin and the other fellow gets a crack at your jaw.