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The Key

It is not a needle.
It is not a syringe
It is a key
that fits my front door
but now that I have it
will I use it?
Am I ready
to leave my distanced redoubt?
Is my unmasked heart prepared
to trust those I meet?
I cannot say
but the key turns
the dust-dry tumblers
the bolt withdraws
the door creaks open
I squint at the sun
of a different year
smell the aromas
of an unmapped summer
hear the surf noise
of my lifeblood’s anticipation
and I step outside

LoTech/HiTech Handiwork

I develop software for my living, so all day I’m steeped in high-tech endeavors: data analysis, solution design, use cases, text-based and GUI-assisted coding, iterative testing, etc.

When it comes to actually living, though, I prefer low-tech activities, such as gardening, reading, writing, and working with wood.

But as much as I love low-tech projects, I am not above getting some high-tech assistance, especially when a project is all very new to me.

Enter: the Nerdy Gurdy.

Continue Reading »

Taking a Breather

Occasionally, the tyranny of social and news media becomes too much for me to handle.

About ten days ago, I reached my limit, full up to here with the naïveté of the left, the mendacity of the right, the fear-mongering of the media, and the narcissistic selfishness of humanity in general.

I needed a break. From damned near everything. Continue Reading »

Understanding My Father

My father was a distinctly midcentury man.

He was a man of tract homes and manual transmissions, cigarettes and pipe tobacco, straw hats and huaraches, sand dunes and surf fishing, Frank Sinatra and Mel Tormé, pancakes with his kids on Saturday morning and roasted meats with his dad at the table on Sunday nights.  He was a dry martini/red wine with ice kind of guy: uncomplicated, elemental, rustic, reserved.

And yet, in his final decade, I found him nearly indecipherable. Continue Reading »

Bound

In the space
Between their words
They stand
Wondering
How they arrived
At this hollow space
Where neither
Can see the other
Where friendship
Rimed with hoar
No longer warms
Both captive
To their own
Righteousness

 

k

Practice Session

Decades as an orchestral musician taught me the value of practice. Years of woodworking taught me the wisdom of the planning and the pre-cut double-check. A stint running a newspaper press taught me the dangers of over-confidence. Twenty summers working in my gardens taught me the peace that can come from taking the long view.

With that as preamble, it’s probably not a surprise that I am approaching my retirement with forethought, prudence, and not a few contingency plans. Continue Reading »

Scattered

I visit his grave
with toes deep in restless sand
waves erase my path

k

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