A writer’s group I belong to just published a group project, Freedom! It’s available for free here. Freedom_Final Please feel free to copy, print, and share! Read more
A writer’s group I belong to just published a group project, Freedom! It’s available for free here. Freedom_Final Please feel free to copy, print, and share! Read more
I come from a long line of thriftiness. Perhaps it was the fact that my father’s kin were Norwegian peasant farmers who staked a claim in the hard North Dakota soil, planting beets and potatoes, hoping to make a living. They endured the ups and downs of dusty, dry summers and frigid, windy winters. They cobbled and they scrimped and saved. My mother’s side were Polish Jews, escaping Europe with little but their wits and small bags of precious stones to... Read more
“I am so sorry.” The words came slowly, like a hardened tube of glue, squeezed out slowly from the bottom. His eyes brimmed with tears and he shook with shame. He wore the tattoos that showed his company pride, battles fought in a far-away land. But the biggest fight of his life was being fought in front a group of strangers that he had wronged. “I can’t drink. I shouldn’t drink. It makes … do things.” That was an understatement.... Read more
Have you ever avoided any mention of tomorrow because you can’t even get through today? Forget thriving through life. You just want to survive. All the hopes and dreams you want are elusive. Like the Psalmist, you ask, “How long must we wait?” Where is this land of milk and honey? Where is the blessing? Where is the healing? There’s no joy, because you are in the desert. Suddenly all the happy Scripture verses and trite bits of encouragement seem terribly hollow.Music... Read more
He used a device on a tripod and I had no idea how in the world it worked. That was his department. And someone else was hauling the fence posts. Someone else was mixing concrete. My job was to dig the holes centered where the stakes had been meticulously placed. Digging holes isn’t precise work. There are hidden rocks, impacted pockets of soil, and tree roots to work around. Still, the hold needed to be centered. I groused and grumbled at... Read more
When I was seven, I knew a lot about bikes and Lincoln logs and lunch. I didn’t know much about life. There were the rituals, waking up for school, eating oatmeal with a drizzle of honey, sitting in the class, dreaming of recess and riding my bike after school. But life? What was that? It was eating and breathing and always knowing my Mom was close by. Was there more? I didn’t know about the struggles of those around me. I didn’t taste... Read more
My brother rode over the home-built jump at the end of the road over and again, circling around to get just a little more air or turn the handlebar in a circle before landing. My pant legs was full of grease from getting caught in the bicycle chain, but there was no stopping until the darkness pushed us grudgingly indoors. The next day, we started all over again. I found a matchbook in the middle of street and flipped open the cover... Read more
____ My bicycle tire was in tatters, shredded by a jagged rock hidden in an open field. I pushed my bike home and that night showed it to my fix-it-father. He removed the tire from the rim, turning it over and over in his hands, and finally, with a grunt, declared it unfixable. “So, can I have a new one?” I pled, my green eyes caked with the dirt of a long day outside. He handed it back to me and said, “After you have enough... Read more
Competition is healthy, as it keeps us producing and advancing. The race to the moon, or to build a faster chip, or to launch a product helps society create. But there is a path of least resistance that is unhealthy, crass, ugly, and … jealous of those who win. Read more
There some well- placed rumble strips in life, those warnings that keep us on the center of the road. These things jolt us back to reality, warning us that we are nearing the edge of safety. Read more
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