By-(pass) & Bi-(polar)

Please note:  If you know of someone who has had gastric by-pass surgery and is having similar experiences as I've described, please share this post with them.  They can send a note to: questions@bypassandbipolar.info. Fact:  We cannot predict the future.  Fact:  Life has no guarantees.  Fact:  New ideas can be both liberating and debilitating.  Fact: … Continue reading By-(pass) & Bi-(polar)

Was It Something I Said ?!?!?

  Ever since I fled from the Windows world and into the effervescent and perpetually happy Apple universe, I'd been sitting at a desk thrown together in twenty minutes and composed mostly of scrap lumber (different colors), 4x4 for legs, and a fair number of exploratory holes, saw marks, spinning-drill-bit-skid marks, a couple of awkwardly … Continue reading Was It Something I Said ?!?!?

On The Periphery (novel excerpt)

  The school day at St. Joe's started promptly at 7:30 am with a Latin low mass. We were ushered into the high-backed wooden pews and told to face the altar, to stop fidgeting, ignore a classmates whispers, to focus on Christ's suffering for our sins and pray to God Almighty for trespassing. The nuns, … Continue reading On The Periphery (novel excerpt)

The Start (a novella-in-progress)

The forecast had called for rain turning to sleet after sundown and Tom was certain he’d be able to make it home before the snow started to fall.  The faculty meeting had gone longer than he’d hoped but shorter than he’d imagined.  It was his first as new Chair of the department and although he … Continue reading The Start (a novella-in-progress)

Stones (poem for 25)

Twenty-five, (it's reputation easily tarnished) Is known for silver, soft Metals needing polish and restoration, But our twenty-four glitters with precious Stones like Essen and Paris and Rome; semi Precious stones like gardens, forests, mountains.   We’ve stood at low-tide and watched As water bent the edges of river stone Flat, oblong, eraser-like, fits my … Continue reading Stones (poem for 25)

And Yet She Cried The Day He Died

My earliest recollection of my dad came when I was four or five and he had come home from working as a second shift foas foreman at a drop forge plant.  He was sitting at the kitchen table eating poached eggs and dry toast, washing it down with a boiler maker.  "The Twins" as he would … Continue reading And Yet She Cried The Day He Died

Rights are Blind

I am not a fan of convention. Convention was the double-barreled shotgun pointed at my mother and father back in April, 1955.  Convention forced them to marry.  And I suppose convention could be held partially to blame for my mother's black-eye's, broken nose, bruised ribs, cut lips, broken dishes, thrown plates, kitchen walls stained by … Continue reading Rights are Blind