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 five cats, invites you over for Thanksgiving Dinner, are you required to attend? Can you pretend that you didn’t get the invitation? Should you respond with seven things they should change before you 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.

The clocks have just chimed 12 indicating the last day of 2020. I have two such clocks and it’s important to me that they chime together. Why that is important is another story. What is important to me right now is that I get out of bed and write this little note to the Facebook breezes and so I can get back to sleep. When I was much younger, over 50 years ago, I was terrified not to have a date for New Year’s Eve. It would mean that I was unwanted and would have no one to k