The Cottage. . .

—From EF— A friend did a Facebook post on his river cabin, complete with a photo of his wood-burning kitchen stove. It catapulted me into an intense memory journey to a Michigan cottage I knew from early childhood, and I want to share it. It hasn’t existed for a...

Tribe. . .

—From CB— In my periodic attempts to comprehend the human race, I start with the recognized belief that humans evolved in interdependent small groups. These groups formed tribes, and that made good survival sense. You couldn’t go out to the mammoth store and buy a...

Respect. . .

—From EF— Our house is near a sharp bend in our country road, and several times a year somebody driving with more speed than sense enlivens the night with a crash. Mailboxes, tree, utility pole, whatever, it’s a screech and a thump and the local people grab...

Happy. . .

—From CB— Saturday, I attended a periodic writers’ circle and read a flash-fiction piece from my previous anthology. It was about waking up one morning “happy,” without any reason to be. In the story, the guy just waits for the day to close in and press him back to...

Priorities. . .

—From EF— Conrad and I are sitting with the Moon tonight, the dark one (we call it Horned Moon), as we have done twice a lunar month for nearly fifty years now, his Horned Moon, my Full Moon. We will be up late and tuning in with high energy, so I’ll be sleepy...

Religion. . .

—From CB— As a kid, I went to the Church of Christ when we visited my grandma, and most Sundays to a Presbyterian church when home. My mom was flexibly Christian: “It doesn’t matter what you believe, but you ought to go to church.” In Sunday School I learned that the...

Happy Fourth. . .

—From EF— It’s Tuesday, the Fourth of July, and this is the blog entry I should have written on Sunday. It’s a big-ass holiday, and everybody’s celebrating, but I’m just settling for being here with Conrad and the cats and being quiet and...

Eighty. . .

—From CB— Just found a blog I wrote at eighty (now staggering toward 82). I don’t intend to stop groping for new things to say, but for eight years of grade school I recited the Pledge of Allegiance daily, with scant effect, so a bit of repetition may be excused. #...

Gleaning. . .

—From EF— Yesterday I knocked off a few tasks that were toppling into toxic territory. One of my mental quirks converts anything I’ve let become past due into something that’s impossible to tackle and I have to work like hell to cross that icky boundary...

Writing. . .

—From CB— Why do you write? Not a stupid question—one that comes up endlessly in online writers’ groups—but generally one to be dodged. You can contemplate it for hours, or you can write. I’ve always found my own answers flippant or bloated with profundity, sometimes...