In the early days of my father's Alzheimer's diagnosis, I visited him several times a week. I picked him up every Saturday morning in my Jeep and took him to breakfast at IHOP. Sometimes, Robert and I visited him during evenings for coffee. We'd wheel him down...
I try to stay up on the Gen X content, particularly blog posts, but my Halloween obsession has caught me falling behind. Thus, if not for a tweet from @andi_fisher, I might have missed the latest post from My Generation X, a blog written by a man in Indiana. The title...
The following is a poem in the shape of an ice cream cone. Well, sort of. This is an example of ASCII art. this summer, i promise to gripe less about flies that find their way into the house because of kids leaving the back door open. i promise to worry less about...
Last night, as I drove Juliette to her art class she asked me a question that brought back a most paralyzing memory: "When was your first kiss?" So, I end up telling her this story about how when I was 14-years-old and as pure as the, well - you know - I ordered this...
My father’s shoeshine kit hearkens back to Sunday mornings when I was a child. He sat on the edge of the bed, his stocky frame sinking the mattress to the floor, and propping one foot at a time on the cedar valet, he polished his shoes, back and forth and back and...