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Notes from the Post-it Wall | Week of December 4, 2022
Revolutions don’t die; people grow tired.
Thirty-One Years
An old bear, kept in a chest, waiting to see his person once again.
The Family that Mood Swings Together Stays Together
At the time of this writing, my wife, Katie, is experiencing her period. My puppy, Molly, is also experiencing her period. They’ve both been pretty pissy. This morning, Harry, my one-year-old son collapsed to the floor and pounded his head on the hardwood in unbridled misery because I wouldn’t let him put the television remote control into the kitchen trashcan. All of my Apple devices are slowing down and I can’t wrap my head around navigating the storage on my hard drives and my cloud servers. It makes me want to pull my hair out and gag myself to death on it.
We’re not a happy home. We’re not an unhappy home either. We’re a moody home.
American Shithole #40 | Christmas Tidings 2018
Oddly, I love Christmastime, which may be weird for an atheist, but not uncommon. I have plenty of atheist and agnostic friends that love Christmas too. I have fond memories of the season, which I am sure accounts for more than half my favor for the yearly celebration — I mean, what’s not to like about holiday music, gift-giving, mashed potatoes (with lots of gravy), friends, family, and the general merriment of yuletide cheer?
Sorry, Mom, I Can't Make It To Christmas This Year
I apologize for losing out on this year’s Secret Santa exchange, and that I won’t be receiving a scented wax warmer for the fifth year in a row.
The Suicide of Abigale Walters
Abigale Walters had been found in the morning by her young nieces and nephews on the couch. They couldn’t wake her, so they called their mother who called 911. When responders arrived, they couldn’t find a pulse. CPR was performed for over two minutes before bringing her back. They did not know how long she had gone without breathing.
A Story About a Mom
There once was a young woman who dreamed of the day she could become a mother. Holly was beautiful, full of life and laughter and of an easy temperament. In the late 1970s, she was like dandelion seeds blowing everywhere in the wind. Whimsical and free.
Stevie
My son Paul was starting to come through. His cocky smugness began to vanish. The good kid I knew that was deep down inside him was starting to peek out from behind his veneer of twelve-year-old arrogance.
Natural Causes — Part III
The visitor’s eyebrows arched at the sound of his name and he entered the room. He took Mary’s hand from C, then turned his head upwards exhaling blue smoke to the ceiling. And with great fanfare Massimo kissed her hand, precisely on the wedding ring she still wore.
Decisions Suck: One Step Toward My Dreams and Back Again
I always planned on being a singer and as it turns out I am a pretty successful jazz singer in the city. But at 18, I had decided to be an opera singer. In my search for a teacher, ballsy me, courageous me, determined me, sent a letter to Beverly Sills, one of the greatest coloratura soprano’s in the world, asking her for a voice teacher recommendation.
The Illinois-Missouri Derby
I could have made the drive inside of two days had I been alone. But I had the wife and the dog, and when you’re driving the 1,164 miles between Chicago and Austin, Texas with souls on board other than your own, it’s best to make pit stops along the way.
Springfield. Kate was unimpressed with Lincoln’s home. “It looks too nice for being that old,” she said.
“You would have been even more unimpressed if they’d just let nature take its course for these past 152 years,” I told her.