“Kathy, I’m lost,” I said, though I knew she was sleeping
“I’m empty and aching and I don’t know why”
Counting the cars on the New Jersey Turnpike
They’ve all come to look for America
All come to look for America
All come to look for America
America– Simon & Garfunkel
The house has been emptied of all people and animals with the exception of me and has been for some time now.
Yet I am certain I saw a small 20 something dog staring at me. I stopped in my tracks and stared back daring the canine specter to move first.
I was there when we said our final goodbyes, I put my hand on his chest to provide whatever comfort I could and I felt his heart stop and saw the light go out in his eyes.
It was two weeks before last Thanksgiving and barely a month since I had been released from the hospital.
For a moment I stood there and wondered if somehow he had found a way to come back for a moment.
He had a very deep bark for such a small creature and was possessed of an attitude that exceeded his size but for that moment I considered the possibilities.
“He was small enough to fit through smaller places and if a rainbow bridge exists potentially independent enough to decide he was going to go the other direction.
So I sent out a silent thought and told him if he comes to visit bring back Moose and my father. I have things to say.
We’re Not Done Old Man
I pulled up this photo and said ‘we’re not done Old Man, I didn’t say you were free to go.” It made me laugh because that was the kind of phrase that would have made Dad’s blue eyes go steely on me.
Told him how it makes me snort when his grandson calls me “Old man” and follows up with some line about my not being able to hear or see.
That kid wasn’t here to see me hold a 5 minute squat nor did he see me send my best wishes to a guy who said he was disappointed I wasn’t part of October 7.
The words that came from my mouth were mostly my own but I heard my father and grandfather’s voices too.
Makes me wonder if the veil between worlds is thinner or if maybe a part of me got pulled to the other side.
Reminded me about how I almost called a few people, almost reached out to connect about a long silence.
****
I wrote The Things/People We Ignore 2026 Edition last week and a few days later started my own Substack.
Haven’t decided yet if I am going to move everything over there or if I am going to let it go. It is too soon for such decisions, but I know I am feeling energized about writing in a way that I haven’t in a long while.
Been a long while since I posted twice in a day and yet here I am updating this place after the Substack.
“I have spent a good many years since―too many, I think―being ashamed about what I write. I think I was forty before I realized that almost every writer of fiction or poetry who has ever published a line has been accused by someone of wasting his or her God-given talent. If you write (or paint or dance or sculpt or sing, I suppose), someone will try to make you feel lousy about it, that’s all.”
― Stephen King, On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft
Substack provides a very clean format and an editor that makes it easy to produce a good looking post.
It reminds me of my early days on Blogger and how hard I worked to try and put together a theme and post that looked the way I wanted it to.
I learned a bit about coding and asked a trusted associate for their opinion on the look of the blog.
But I never focused as hard upon the code and theme as I did upon the words because that is what drove me.
Hell, I know it is part of what drove my number one fan and why they return. I know they read the words twice and they hear my voice as if I was reading these words to them.
Makes me smile a bit as I feel them try to figure out what do with what comes along with it all, some flames burn no matter how many times you try to quench them.
I am just a poor boy, though my story’s seldom told
I have squandered my resistance for a pocketful of mumbles
Such are promises
All lies and jest
Still a man hears what he wants to hear
And disregards the rest, hmm
The Boxer– Simon & Garfunkel
Hit the weights at the gym and had to remind myself to slow down and continue to ladder up using my left arm.
Had a meeting with a guy a few days ago who acts as a functional strength trainer. Part of what he does is help us recalibrate our bodies so that our joints and muscles work as they should.
He asked me why I would pay for a service when I know how to find videos that can help me figure it out without assistance. And then he asked me if I no longer trusted my body and I flashed him a big smile.
I told him I wasn’t dead set on hiring someone but I saw some benefits in having access to expert help. I said I am not so arrogant to believe I can do everything myself and then I said I’d still jump off of the roof into a swimming pool.
Do I trust my body?
Yes and no. I don’t trust it respond the way it always did when I was younger. I don’t trust it to not bark at me if I try to act like I am 25.
But I do believe I am turning back time and I do trust I can relearn how to do some things that are natural. It is why I practice the squatting and sit upon the Yoga blocks for extended periods of time.
It is why I am focused on flexibility alongside of putting muscle on.
The second half of life approaches and I am focused on setting things up for the best quality of life I can achieve.
And maybe, just maybe somewhere along the way the ghost dog will come to visit again and he’ll bring some companions.
And if not, well then one day I’ll find out if this is all there is. Until then I am going to do all I can to enjoy myself, life is short.
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