One dreary morning, after a full day of rain, Mr. Slug was out taking a three-hour walk across the patio. As he crossed the damp concrete slab near his normal stomping grounds, he thought to himself…”What in the hell is my purpose in life?” Continue reading Mr. Slug
It’s not nice to make light of people who are trapped in the awfulness of a Long-Term Care Facility, but here’s a funny story. The last of the Roanoke stories, quite maybe. Continue reading Checkmate
Today, September the 20th, is the very first day that Virginia had a statewide lottery. It’s also my second wife’s birthday. Not to make fun of Holy Matrimony…skip that, yes I am. Continue reading Winner, Winner, Chicken Dinner!
Below is a wonderful photograph of my Uncle Bob standing larger than life before the Iwo Jima memorial, in Iwo Jima, in the 1950’s. On the back of the photograph is handwritten “John Wayne Dahlgren”, no doubt a humorous jab at a man that entered the military underaged and later served in four of the five branches of the armed forces.
Uncle Bob was missing a few toes, a finger, and half a thumb when he died. But he sacrificed everything in the service of his country.
Here are a few more pictures taken at the request of Aunt B.
And a story written about Aunt B and her love of Uncle Bob…
I was gonna write something angry today, seeing as to how I’m still pissed at the Shenandoah Valley Teen Challenge people, whom I helped and worked with, before I got got sick two years ago, after which they stopped talking to me. Seems that I violated God’s rules of payment. So, instead, I thought I’d write something strangely nice. Continue reading Two Years after Long-Care Help
I’m not a text person or a tweet person, having never really done either before. Today, I got to spend some quality time with my buddy Michael. Just like his Dad and myself as teens, we had gone months without communicating, but then side by side, we spoke to each other like it was just yesterday. It felt good.
Buried on a shelf, behind the door of an unused closet, lies an old beat-up jewelry box.
The box itself was very unassuming. A faded pale blue with a simple gold embroidery, the cushy feel of padding like those mass-produced in the 60’s and 70’s. But with a lift of the unlatched lid, a thousand thoughts and emotions poured out of the jewelry box, causing his head to spin and his heart to flutter.
The jewelry box was crammed full of letters written by his first love, handwritten memories on crinkled paper, some still nestled in their original envelopes. What started as ‘Puppy Love’ had developed over time, as did the length and complexity of the letters themselves.
If the pile of letters, now shuffled like a huge deck of cards, were laid out from the very first kiss until the present day, they would tell the wonderful tale of a young love blossoming into maturity, the pains of separating after adulthood, and a final chapter that would never end, instead a friendship that would last forever.
There’s something warm and comforting, so personal, in holding a piece of paper on which is written the thoughts and feelings of someone who means so much to you, and whose style of script you’ll never forget. It’s like having that person sitting beside you, though they’re not apart of your life or maybe never will be again, but they’ll never be gone forever.
Behind the creation of each letter, she had searched for an ink pen and a piece of paper, and had spilled-out her emotions with wet ink on a plain piece of paper.
Holding each handwritten letter with his own hands, reading each and every word she had written, he could clearly hear her voice.
And the jewelry box was placed back upon on the shelf.