“But you do it every night.” He’s trying to defend himself. A certain little habit. “I can’t help it. It’s your fault.” By turning the tables on me. “I can set my clock by you. It’s funny.” It may be. I haven’t decided yet. “Whatever, it’s weird. You know this. Right?” He doesn’t answer. Instead
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I don’t think the sun is ever going to shine. Last week it was cold but not rainy and we all went down to the piano bar by Bridgewater and had lunch outdoors. One makes due.
“I don’t recollect a lot of birthdays. Didn’t really celebrate ’em when I was a boy.” Pa turned 70 today. “I’d get a year older and not even know it ’til a month later when one of my uncles’d come around.” I heard my grandmother in the background. Reminding him of the birthday he does
Two years ago Pa decided to hike with us into the wood at the head of Grapevine – to see what was left of the school he went to in 1942. The mountain had swallowed it up years before I was born. None of us were sure he could find it. But he did. (More
Tall Dark & Handsome’s brother just got back from the North Pole. More or less. He spent two weeks in Svalbard dog sledding through white-outs and walking on thin ice. My mother went to Chicago once when she was 17. Barring truckers, that’s about as far as any of my family got until I started
“I seen my daddy die.” He was a handsome man with handsome eyes. He wore suits and bowler hats and bright red ties. His boy would take after him. But he’d never know it. “A man’s gotta be in bad shape to do that sorta thing.” Darrell said it. “Makes you wonder if he hated
City work means city pay. That’s a good thing. This month I’ve been up to my eyeballs in facials and Decleor. Expensive shoes and tailored trousers. There’s satisfaction in spending cash that’s your own. May 27 is special for me so I’ve been liaising with my jeweler and a personal shopper at Fendi. A cushion
I’ve been playing this afternoon. With photos and some really cool javascript. I’ll flesh the site out better later…add more of my lifestyle photographs. In the meantime…. Pics by an old Canon A40, a newer Canon Ixus 500, a Nikon D70 & a Sony DCST9. And one from a really old (i.e. cira 1998ish) Nikon
I like stories. Full of everything-real and colour. Small, heavy words soaked with life. Words you can’t find in a dictionary and couldn’t spell even if you tried. Words that mean more than they ought – because they’re so little and all. I want to be a storyteller. But my tone is never right. My
Pa spent the day on the mountain. Fixing his mother’s grave. His hands have kept it from sinking…for years. No one knew where he was. A man of 70. Of five heart attacks and so much more. Ma worried. She wrung her hands and waited. When he came home she asked him where he’d been?
