Saint Nesanet, Patron of Gratitude

Saint Nesanet, Patron of Gratitude Every day, several times a day, I look upon the small porcelain figurine: me, sitting, leaning forward, a teensy book spread open on the altar of my tiny, supplicating hands. I am reading to her class, my son’s class, my class — high school English. Mixing business and pleasure, reading…

Distraction Enow?

Seeking distraction, I decide to tell the Buckaroo all I know about distraction, which amounts mostly to the mildly annoying sounds of civilization — aircraft, automobiles, and arboreal buzzers and blowers — and the pleasantly reassuring chirps, wafts, and fragrances of Nature. Obviously there are countless other kinds of distraction in this overheated commercial and…

Aging in Place

“Prostitution,” the tall man states with serene confidence, “is the public promulgation of private parts for pecuniary purposes. Do we call it renting? Or selling? Letting? Or getting? And so what? “The real question,” he adds, sips his Longboard, holds the glassed amber before him in a neo-Mussolini salute, “is whether you are ever embarrassed…

ON HE RODE — Chapter Seventeen

Hanging out bareheaded, baldheaded in this sultry summer sun, gentle sea breezes tickling my ears, I think maybe there really is something to this fresh start idea and that just maybe those old worn-out and dying follicles will be inspired by this fresh open-ness to nouveau riche lushness, excuse my French. And isn’t that what…

Do they? Still?

When I was a kid and ate candy bars, my favorite was Mountain Bar. Like a miniature mountain with a heavy coating of peanut-laced milk chocolate, its nougat interior sweetly beckoned, insisted, welcomed. The largest billboard on Tacoma’s busiest intersection was once filledwith the picture of a giant Mountain Bar with one neatly nougat-revealing bite…

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