At this moment, we have two dear friends not only mourning the loss of a parent, but also tasked with going through their loved ones’ personal belongings before putting their homes up for sale. For most offspring of a certain generation, this unenviable task has become almost inevitable, filled with emotional and sometimes financial stress. Might be a good idea to start this process before we die, don’t you think? Go through your stuff now so your children won’t have to rent a Dumpster after you kick the bucket. Last week, our kind neighbor across the street, a recent widow, decided to do just that. She has a 20-yard lime green Dumpster sitting on…
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Playable history
Rebecca has this outrageous theory about my three favorite things in life. For nearly 16 years when we were service humans to our beloved dog Madison, she used to say the top-ranked items in my world were “Madison, Mustang and me” (meaning her), as in she played third fiddle to a dog and a car. Not just any dog or car, mind you. Still, she believed she was “last but not least” in the hierarchy. After we lost dear Maddie in April 2024, Rebecca’s ranking moved up a notch – maybe two. But I’m afraid her recent rise to the top may have been short lived, since I’ve added a…
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Beautiful Dreamer
Frankly, I never knew I loved the smell of horse manure in the morning. With apologies to fans of “Apocalypse Now,” let me explain. The 1979 Vietnam War film’s most famous line, “I love the smell of napalm in the morning,” was delivered by Robert Duvall’s character aptly named Lt. Col. Kilgore. He described how the lingering odor of napalm – a jellied fuel that could be ignited as a deadly weapon – reminded him, of all things, victory. Turns out, an air strike by his unit destroyed a Vietcong-controlled coastal village using the horrific firebomb. Chilling stuff indeed. Ironically, and unlike Kilgore’s fog of war, a steaming pile of…
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Old money
I have been trying not to write about frivolous subjects. In my scattershot approach to composing a blog post worthy of your time, I’ve considered a boatload of throwaway topics: lavish summer weddings in places you’re not welcome, potty-mouthed presidents, and the God’s-honest truth that I thoroughly enjoyed watching Brad Pitt in “F1: The Movie” when my past regard for his acting was a notch above the wooden Tom Cruise. Speaking of inanimate objects, just how do you pronounce “gif,” those goofy images on social media that serve as emotional shorthand in texts. Not static, smiley-faced emojis. Think of rolling eyeballs or cats waving goodbye. Is it “gif” as in…
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American ‘agita’
Here we go, dear subscribers. Time for another wildly disjointed post from your favorite slogger. I can’t help it, but it’s my blog, and I’ll float in a babbling brook of shallow stream of consciousness if I want to. Or, as one writer friend commented, “It reminds me of my journal entries lately.” It’s not that I haven’t tried to come up with something pointed and straightforward. Honestly, I have, but to no avail. There’s just too much chaos to consume. Every. Single. Day. I find it all hard to digest, and instead come down with yet another case of agita, as my Italian grandmother used to say. Sound it out:…
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Blahs, bees and Bob
I woke up today with an old children’s song stuck in my head. We had a few friends over Sunday – the first lovely weekend afternoon in a very long time – so recalling a traditional, repetitive folk/drinking song in my dreams may have been the result of too much folk and drink. You’ve heard it: “If you’re happy and you know it, clap your hands. If you’re happy and you know it, then your face will surely show it … (blah, blah, blah) … clap your hands.” Wikipedia says the song first appeared in a 1938 Soviet musical comedy called “Volga-Volga,” which centers around a group of amateur performers sailing on a…
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We did it again
I read something recently in one of the umpteen geo-political newsletters I have subscribed to in the past six months about how everything is so messed up that it’s just plain exhausting. The writer decided he was going to become a digital hermit and never go outside again. Rather extreme, but one line caught my attention: “Democracy is a total yard sale.” I’d never looked at it that way before. Our country’s very foundation is on the chopping block, up for grabs to the highest lowly bidder, despite an economy in tatters, endless attacks on the rule of law and so much chaos. Perhaps “total yard sale” is a perfect…
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Holy smoke
It’s been a rather sentimental week for me, and not just because another Mother’s Day has passed without mine being on this Earth. She’s been gone nearly 17 years. I miss her every day, which is tough sometimes, but I can still think about her and laugh, which is comforting every time. Last Saturday, we went to a birthday party for my youngest great-nephew, Thomas. He’ll be a year old, making this his first trip around the sun. These days, first birthday parties also mark the first time a child gets to taste sugar. Tommy’s was no different. Actually, I think he liked it. A LOT! His face was equal…
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May Day
When I retired in 2013, I thought my marching days were over. I was so wrong. The work for social justice never ends. Today is May Day, also known as International Workers’ Day or, in places like the United Kingdom, France and Germany, Labour Day. Here in the United States, it’s a time for workers to come together and advocate for labor rights and social justice. Parades, rallies, marches and protests. Grassroots activism at its finest. On this May Day, tens of thousands of protesters across America will fight back against the “war on working people.” Families over fortunes. Public schools over private profits. Health care over hedge funds. Prosperity…
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Bowl of cherries
On our three-hour return flight to Detroit from Fort Lauderdale, I was feeling a bit nostalgic after being back in my old stomping grounds for two weeks. When I lived in South Florida, as the locals in that part of the state call it, I was 23 years old and more than a little green around the gills. A brand new college graduate of a metro-Detroit suburban commuter school, I knew nothing about being on my own, away from the comforts of home and the shelter of my parents. Jimmy and Elia always wanted the best for me, but they rarely thought that meant leaving home — or their sight.…
