A little blog blabber. (You’ve got time to read this, or you can clean your garage.)

I didn’t touch the news yet. Took my synthroid. Sipped some coffee. Read from several books. It’s been a full two hours and I haven’t seen the world map blotched with blood from one continent to another. So many have offered perspective by comparing all the different ways humans die and the percentage thereof. I once read that more people die from donkeys than from plane crashes every year. What an asinine perspective. Now when on the back roads of my delivery route, I see donkeys as potential murderers.

This must be some sort of reset. This virus, of all the past viral anomalies, is historic in its scope of culture twisting adjustments. Off in the distance I see. I see you off in the distance. Six feet might as well be six miles in some instances. Yet, out of the fire and into the frying pan-demic we all can admit a heightened awareness of how little we control stuff. I can still set the toaster level on four and expect crispy bread ready to melt butter on the surface, but deep down I know…


Today is Sunday. The sun was seen from what I now call my reading room. It’s a little hovel, with windows facing east, south, and west. My thoughts tip-toed, skipped, and tripped from brain cell to brain cell, eventually finding neuron highways to travel as the coffee kicked in. I thought of other author’s thoughts. I thought of God’s thoughts. All this time to think, when the truth of the matter is we are thinking all the time. It’s our awareness that flickers on and off like a light bulb in a fruit cellar.

Here are some things of which I was made aware:

When filling my vitamin/medication daily dose tray, I imagine playing mancala.

An organized garage is a thing of beauty.

Refrigerator chess is always one move away from checkmate.

Everybody poops. (The toilet paper isle is still echoing, even when we speak in hushed tones six feet apart.)

Whenever I see latex gloves my first inkling is of an unpleasant procedure.

God and the Coronavirus are both unseen, but real.

My family can survive a lockdown, for a couple of weeks at least.

Neil Diamond is relevant.

I really want to play tic-tac-toe in the grocery store with all the X’s on the floor.

My wife loves me, and I love her.

Wildlife, especially birds, don’t give a rip about pandemics.

Beauty is indeed fleeting, but hey, I still see it everywhere.

A measured sense of humor in times like these is essential.

Thoughts can be turned into prayers.

Family is.


I’ve already gone over my goal of six hundred words per blog post, so if you’ve read this far, I’m proud of you.

Everyone, wash your hands, say your prayers, and make eye-contact.


Etch-A-Sketch: Lifeline. A Poem of connection.

My six-year-old held the whole world in her hands.

It was flat, and grey dust magnetically clouded the possibilities.

Then the etch. An itch scratched by turn, turn, turn.

Two knobs drew an electrocardiogram.

Up, down, back, and forth revealed a heartbeat,

perhaps her own, perhaps Gods.

Maybe it was a blend of a dual rhythm.

Ka thump ka thump with each twist of finger and thumb.


Jesus sat with her and their laps shared the red framed square.

She turned the left circle and he the right.

The back and forth she twisted.

The up and down he turned.

They scraped off the grey in life lines.

They tilted their heads and touched temples.

Tongue tips hung on the side of their mouths.


They crossed paths again and again.

The sign of the cross, the line of the cross,

a paradox of the God-man with the child of God.

The vertical with the horizontal

became a peculiar perpendicular intersect.

Crossover continuum.


Jesus took his hand off for a moment

and she flat-lined.

She took her hand off for a moment

and a heartbeat ascended straight up to Love.

They held hands and knobs

and were careful not to shake anything.