December 29, 2015

It's 11:36pm, Christmas Eve. Our home is without heat and the thermostat in the hallway registers 56 degrees. It has been the coldest winter I can remember since moving here in 2005, with nightly temperatures dipping down into the high 30's, which I know is almost laughable for those living in four season climates. But space heaters can only take you so far when its 37 degrees out and you have breezes coming in through the windows and the only thing between the dirt on the ground and your feet are 3/8" thick floorboards. I need to insulate the attic, etc. 

Kari is moving between the couch and toilet, hurling in only the way she can, quietly and without fanfare. There is something extraordinary about her experience with the stomach flu and hearing and watching her is simultaneously gory and breathtaking. The way she faces it head on, without fear, the way she delicately and methodically takes care of herself, the way she settles into the moment, even one as miserable as this. I lie in bed, listening to the gory details and breathe a sigh of relief that I found such a woman.  

Leo has joined in on the flu party and after changing the sheets and pillowcases and all articles of clothing, we are now laying together with a small bowl between us. He pukes and I mostly catch it and I rinse the bowl and he falls asleep and I drift in and out until it all starts over again. By the time the sun starts to make its Christmas rise, the spectacle is over and we are exhausted. 


It has been a great year. One of the most satisfying years of my adult life. 

May 18, 2015

It is nearing June and I still have not finished the book I set out to finish in January and the only writing I have done has been some scattered notes on my iPhone at midnight that have all ended up in the cyber trash.

Parenthood has taken over. I don't know if there is any other way to put it. Either my goals for the year are not reasonable or I am not motivated enough. The answer is probably yes to both of these theories. The irony of the second theory is that the very reason I don't have motivation at the end of the day to work on the essay or pick up a book is because I am a parent. By the time we have all the kids asleep, there is only one thing I would like to do. Namely, throw a party with my wife. Pour the shot, fill the glass, hit the porch and talk the night away. The Grapes of Wrath has no chance against whiskey and adult conversation.

March 25, 2015


I would mostly like a few stiff drinks, some yellow Americans and to shut the curtains and lay with Kari in the dark for the day. That's how I feel four years in.