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What movie or TV series have I watched more than five times? There are likely a few contenders, but one stands above the rest: Chariots of Fire. This film entered my life in the 1980s, a golden era when I was in the prime of my youth—running track and cross country, chasing fleeting romances, and
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“Steps Back” (Song #2) [Verse 1]I’d take a step toward her, reaching out slow,Meeting her where she was, where she couldn’t go.The space she might’ve claimed, I stole it away,So she carved out more, stepped back to stay. From that new ground where we stood, I could see,Every move I made pushed her further from
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Are you superstitious? When a black cat sashayed by my tread,I smashed a ladder—and a mirror—dead,Cracked my mum’s back, oh heck,Seven years’ curse on my neck,Tossed my luck, now I’m jinxed in my bed!
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So I’m just a regular dude, right? Busting my hump every day, trying to keep the lights on and the fridge stocked. Then this word “tariff” barges into my life like some nasty black goo you’d peel off your flip-flop after a Santa Barbara beach day. You know—that tar that stinks like a bad decision
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When someone asks, “What animal are you?” my brain instantly fires off a zoo’s worth of options. Cheetah? Fast and flashy—tempting. Owl? Wise and mysterious—sure, I’ll take it. Elephant? Big, strong, and unforgettable—why not? Even a hippo crossed my mind (don’t judge, those chompers are no joke). But then I paused mid-thought—hold up, my diet’s
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Even a Moon Must SetEven a moon must set, return,Slip soft into shadow’s churn.Luna, once my tide, my glow,A silver pull I used to know—Now dims beneath a wider arc,A fading gleam, a cooling spark. Every sky holds a little blue,A bruise of dusk, a fleeting hue.But Sol—it burns, bright and true,A flame no cloud
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“The past is never where you think you left it.”— Franz Kafka Past clings like rust,Heavy, it anchors me still—A shadow, not me. It chokes breath, unmoved,A weight of despair, rusted,Forever behind. New blooms soft and green,A spring rises, light and free—Roots work unseen now. Not yesterday’s dust,Not tomorrow’s dream—but here,Growth I can’t force. Look
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Daily Prompt: A Letter to My Hundred-Year-Old Self Dearest Me, Happy Birthday! Today, you turn 100—a century of breaths, heartbeats, and steps guided by a hand greater than our own. As I sit here, almost 50 years behind you on March 10, 2025, I can only marvel at the life we’ve lived. Half a century
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So, I wake up early because I crash early—makes sense, right? But 1:30 a.m.? That’s not early; that’s just rude. I tried to zen out, refusing to grab my phone or flip on the lights—basically avoiding the overstimulation trap I used to fall into with my little girls. Back when they were 1 or 2,
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So, where would I go on a shopping spree? Buckle up, because this might shock you. I’m a sucker for REI—give me hiking gear and tools any day—but deep down? I’m a mushy romantic. Yeah, I know, wild plot twist! If my employees or subcontractors caught wind of this, they’d choke on their energy drinks
“All colors made me happy even grey.” Nabokov, Pale Fire
A German carpenter by day working hard to follow a Jewish carpenter, exploring writing as a creative outlet. Passionate about learning through practice and observation.
BB Grey--musings 