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I’m reading an old friend’s poetry manuscript. Something I adore — reading a manuscript as a writer, trying to see what the poems want to say, what the music is telling me. It’s the language of poetry, and I don’t get to speak it nearly often enough. Because I often teach at the beginner level,…

Fathers are odd creatures. At least the ones I know are — not any single mold, no real unifying characteristics. Some are very loving — nurturing, even — others are sometimes cranky. While yet others are newly fledged, and learning to fly (my elder son, for instance… :)). My own father remains tall and trim…

I’m not good at being loved. It makes me uncomfortable when people sing my praises, for whatever reason. And I’ve never learned how to gracefully accept compliments (I have a bad habit of turning them in to jokes, but I am getting better). So it still astonishes me I have friends other than family. Note:…

Even a year ago she still ate. Not so much lately. Her fur — once sleek as a seal’s — is dull. I haven’t seen her groom herself in years. My petting does that, bringing up clouds of silvery fur. Today was her last one at home. She’s no longer able to maneuver the stairs…
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