I’m quite possibly the only straight guy in America that knows all of the words to all of the songs from Rodgers and Hammerstein’s “Sound of Music”. I didn’t grow up with a silver spoon in my mouth, but we did have a Baby Grand piano in the living room. And my Mom played, and my Sisters played, and my Dad played. And I sang along. Continue reading And now, I’d like to Sing a Song
Next to getting ambush kissed by Stephanie Harbison in the first grade, cutting the grass of the family’s yard was by far my biggest passageway into manhood. Continue reading Just Cutting Grass
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!
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.
She was surprised by the offer, a quick detour to the river on the way home from a doctor’s appointment. She hadn’t been riverside in years, long before the macular degeneration had mostly taken her sight and her ability to travel on her own.
They slowly walked arm in arm to the boat ramp, where during the lively days of summer, the canoeists would launch and the fisherman would wade off into the waters. But the seasons were changing and it was becoming cold.
Her limited vision and her big imagination allowed her to see across the waters and into its depths. There were dark areas and an obvious shallow section and the image of a large rock submerged not twenty feet away.
“Bring me a handful of water, I want to feel it” as she swayed unsteadily on the ramp’s uneven surface.
“Oh my, it’s kind of cold. But not too bad. It feels nice”
Yes, it does.
A good number of years ago, family and friends had gathered together at Mt. Airy Farms, just South of Mount Jackson, to watch the biannual steeplechase horse races. Continue reading A Perfect Day
My young Goddaughter gave me a book several years ago full of writing prompts to inspire me simply because she knew that I liked to write. Tonight, as I flipped through the book and shrugged at the various topics, it dawned on me that I should write about her, a favorite subject of mine and all the prompting I’ll ever need. Continue reading A Non-Lyrical Ode to Rachel