I've been thinking about how practice sometimes leads to growth that is different from the initial goal. How the mere practice of practicing something, anything, is beneficial. Practicing builds mental and emotional muscle, especially when the end result is kind of fuzzy.
I came home for lunch, as I often do. And while I was home, I took the ridiculous, hairy, shedding, barking Newfie for a walk, as I often do when I come home for lunch. We were walking, the dog and I, up the alley behind our house, taking advantage of a short break in … Continue reading Something interrupted.
I sent my son back to college last week, waving with what I hope looked like cheerfulness as he backed his truck from the driveway. He returned 20 minutes later, having forgotten something important, though I can't now remember what it was. A shirt, maybe, or a favorite jacket. He pulled in front of the … Continue reading Flat circles.
It is our 22nd summer in Memphis. It is time now, in the midst of a global pandemic, racial reckoning, and massive upheaval, to tell the story of our house. But the story of our house, our home, would be void of meaning without the story of how we got here. And so, to start, … Continue reading An ordinary marriage.
We are on the porch eating dinner, one night just a few weeks ago, at the front-tip edge of our 21st summer together. The days are warm and nights still cool. Our kind of weather. I think of this weather as our season. Our son (who drove his truck, your truck, Henry's truck, to school … Continue reading Belonging.
Your truck (Henry's truck), the one you drove to Memphis (an eternity ago), sits on the parking pad behind our house (still with its New Mexico license plates), where it has sat, flat-tired, for a dozen years, neglected. Our son, who used to sit in the bathtub with you making shampoo mohawks and blowing bubbles, … Continue reading 1
These are, you understand, just inflection points, the ones that shape the arc of my plot. Fact: All of these stories are true. Fiction: These stories are the only truth. This summer, two years ago, is our musical summer, capped at the end with Van Morrison on your 50th birthday. Early in the summer we … Continue reading 2
We are very close. Almost to now. This is the summer, three years ago, when I take a month off, cart the kids to the beach and get sunburned. I sign up for a water aerobics class, and you offer, every day, to play Bill Murray and slip a Baby Ruth in the pristine water … Continue reading 3