Channeling Carl Spackler I start out with a dangerously sharp four pronged implement of destruction and the fervent belief that I'm tackling no more than undesirable rhizomes and maybe some grass and stuff - because there is always grass and... Read more →


The original timestamp on The Red Umbrella (and the light) is August 13, 2020 which has caused a dip into the well of cognitive dissonance this morning. The post was written forty-eight hours after I'd put my affairs in order... Read more →


I lit out for the territories on May 11, 2011. **** The first time you venture into the forest with only yourself for company can be a bit of a shock. I carried a journal and wrote at the start... Read more →


There are not many photographs of Elizabeth and me after she was eight. There wasn't anyone to take them for the most part and I'm not big on selfies. However, there is this and it tells all you need to... Read more →


I think all married people do this; at least that's what I tell myself. No matter how hard we try, we lose bits of ourselves over time. Commitment is a horribly abused word. As with the word, literally, it rarely... Read more →


Some memories hold on. They dig in deep and maybe we're unaware; but a photograph, a sound, in my case, often a smell, slams the entire vignette into the present. When this happens, I write as much as I remember.... Read more →


I fell down the rabbit hole in 1982, two months after my eighteenth birthday. I was in no way prepared for a hard tumble from the nest. There were three things that kept me off the street: a friend who... Read more →


I drove north to Starksboro on September 9 with no end date in sight. That's not me; I want concrete plans, or at least concrete foundations. I can improvise on that. The only concrete things I had were the drive... Read more →