Haiku: Rail Trail (5)

I stopped to listen– not cicadas, not peepers– and then the sound stopped.

Terms of endearment

Last night my son was snuggling with my dog, my dog who despite his puppyish face is middle-aged, and my son felt the slackness of my dog’s skin, and in a loving, cooing voice, he said: “Ooo, you’re so flabby, you’re like an old man who spent the pandemic eating Doritos and watching Succession.”

Every child is a teacher

My daughter was telling me about a story she’s writing. The other day she wrote 1,000 words; she had even written an outline. “An outline!” I said. “That’s unusual.” She and I are not, shall we say, planners. I praised her for doing something she doesn’t usually do. And then I did a thing that […]

In which my son finds his voice

My son has a wee cold that has made his throat scratchy and his voice ragged. He has also been watching King of the Hill and reading about yokai, creatures from Japanese folklore. Which explains why this morning he told me his voice sounded like a cross between Bobby Hill and a mountain hag.

The marriage plot

Ate lunch at a local sandwich shop and sat two tables away from a married couple. The husband was 99 years old; the wife was ten years younger. A sample of their conversation: Woman: We have the TV Guide. Man: No. Woman: Yes. We have the TV Guide. Man: No! [Silence] Man: Where are we […]

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