People romanticize snippets of the past and I’m no different. If you listen to me talk about my UF years, you’d think: 1. I got straight As.* 2. I spent four years in Gainesville with Cheryl, a time overflowing with love, joy, learning, and fulfillment. 3. Ambrosia came with every meal. They only had enough to serve it as a side though.** 4. Classmates followed me on campus, collecting things my feet had trod. 5. Steve Spurrier begged me daily to join the team and solve his dreadful kicking game.*** 6. I reigned over the Florida Gym like I was [...]
memories
Some things you can’t have
I used to talk to my grandfathers as a child and as a young adult. I’m sure many of you did too. Some of your grandfathers may have passed on from the living too. Sometimes it was out loud, as if I was talking to you – though I’d sure as hell make sure you weren’t there to hear me. As a child, sometimes it was a whisper filled with yearning, as if they’d be more likely to hear me if I wanted it enough. Mostly it was silent thoughts, knowing they were gone, unreachable, but imagining their invisible presence [...]
For Sale
You’ve heard a picture is worth a thousand words, but have you ever considered words can have infinite meaning? It’s the beauty of language; this thing our gray matter dreamed up to communicate. It’s so complex it’s a wonder we can keep it straight, and it explains why so many of us have trouble capturing its intricacies in print. Just the words “for sale” can mean several things to different people, depending on context, inflection, or tone. They can explain one’s principles or one’s property, their meaning completely different. They can conjure countless stories from your imagination: like the broken [...]
As the mind wanders…
This is not a sad story. Saying it up front kind of puts into question though, doesn’t it? Sows a little doubt maybe? This is a story about home. It could be about your home or a friends home, but only you could write that post, or your friend. This is about scratches in the hardwood floors of a house in eastern Massachusetts, in a mysterious spiral pattern. It’s about a patch of wallpaper* where a younger you practiced writing your name. It’s about the front step and the proper angle of attack on the pile of snow from shoveling [...]
