family
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“My father never spoke in parables, but his hands told stories clearer than any sermon. In wood, he found truth. In silence, understanding.” The sander thrummed in my grip, its vibration crawling up my forearm like a pulse, like memory. Mahogany dust hung in the warm air, rich and sharp, smelling of patience, of near-perfection,…
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for my son, who flew toward his own sun It’s always been a sin, hasn’t it?To want too much.To hope.To leave.To stay. The days with you—man once a boywaiting for eggs I’d scramblelike penance,as the toaster hummed its tired absolution,those mornings are rosaries now,threadbare prayersslipping through guilty hands. You make your own breakfastin a city…
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Prompt of the Day: What’s the Legacy You Want to Leave Behind? Legacy? Sounds like something for kings, tech moguls, or that rich uncle who left you his vintage comic collection in his will. Merriam-Webster’s first definition agrees: legacy’s just cash or stuff you pass down. Snooze. But the second definition? That’s the juice—a lasting…
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—have you ever broken a bone? Picture this: a scrappy backyard baseball diamond, cobbled together by three siblings with big dreams and zero budget. First base? A sickly, half-dead plant wheezing in a faded terracotta pot, so heavy we nearly busted a gut dragging it into place. Bits of clay flaked off, sticking to my…
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It’s 4 p.m., and my inbox is a graveyard of emails that feel important but probably aren’t—digital paperweights holding down nothing but my will to live. The world spins on. Whether I reply today or tomorrow won’t matter to anyone, least of all me. Earlier, I take my mother to the doctor. Routine physical, except…
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The last live performance I saw didn’t have curtains or spotlights—just an office, a boss, and a pathological liar with mascara and crocodile tears.
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The world turns gold, amber, brown—leaves crisp underfoot like forgotten letters.The lake house stirs from its long solitude,windows blinking awake as tires crunch gravel. From distant cities they come:children peering through screen doors,mothers nesting in knitted sweaters,fathers spiraling pigskin through November air. The table groans under the weight of memory—mashed potatoes smooth as unspoken apologies,pecan…
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Hey Dad, How’s the view from where you are? Is Jesus keeping you company, sharing stories over some cosmic equivalent of coffee? Yesterday was your birthday—eighty-one, if time even bothers to count where you are. Do you celebrate, or is that date just a faint echo of a life left behind? I wonder, sometimes, if…
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How do I unwind after a demanding day? I sit.I breathe.And sometimes—I remember. Back in 2008, when the Great Recession was battering my business and life felt like it was unraveling one invoice at a time, I developed a small ritual. After a long day—clients yelling, banks circling, friends and subcontractors losing homes—I’d pull into…
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When I was five, I was a lost boy,a Peter Pan with a heart full of Neverland,and I didn’t want to grow up.I’ve always had a hard time letting go—of things, of moments, of the small universethat spun around me at five years old. To give up being five felt like betrayal.My world was a…
BB Grey--musings 