thisnewday

Since I've become
a writer, again,

I feel an
urgent need

for a
mini-clipboard

at my
bedside.

Because, you know,
tools, lol...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
8.27.2026

2:58 AM

Some days
I am

my own
worst enemy.

I know,
it's been

too often
said

to claim that label
as my own.

And yet,
here I am

living it
again...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
8.21.2026

(2) puffs
levalbuterol

@ 5 AM,
BP readings

at 9
or 10,

then coughing,
gasping,

coughing.
Glad, at times,

there are no
others

to witness
or partake

of this
fragmenting

remnant
of a life...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
8.17.26

The people
who have owned

and lived in
the house

next door
have sold it

and are leaving.
And, although

I hardly knew them,
except, perhaps,

to say,
"Hello,"

(and not
enough to

say,
"goodbye,")

nonetheless
I feel

their absence
already...

LPK 
Dreamwidth/LJ
8.11.2026

for Michele and Allie

Regardless of what may lie ahead, the mission remains the same: to live better, be better, in whatever time remains...

LPK
Dw/LJ
2.1.2026

May I make
this day

a better one than
yesterday

in each and every
possible way...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
3.18.2025
rev. 8.22.26

So I was editing the previous entry about Tobias Wolff, Raymond Carver and Tess Gallagher and their time at Syracuse University.

In it, I had referenced "Moon Crossing Bridge," Gallagher's amazing volume of love poems and lamentations to her deceased husband Raymond Carver.

It had been a favorite of mine and I was pretty sure that, even in the confusion and emotional chaos of closing up the house on Mooney Avenue and moving here to the city's west side after my wife's passing, I had still managed to keep a paperback copy in one of my bookcases.

Anyway, I was fact-checking something about Gallagher's book online and happened to notice several ads for copies on sale, including a hardbound volume for $100. And I remember thinking that, even though I love the book, I'd never spend a hundred bucks just to own a hardbound copy.

But now I wanted to be sure that my "cheap" paperback copy was still in the house.

So I looked in the tall bookcase by my office door and, after navigating the haphazard filing system I use for my books, I discovered that I had, in fact, not one but two copies!

Not only that, but of them one was hardbound! Upon seeing it, I recalled finding it at a second-hand bookstore on James Street in the old Eastwood neighborhood where my wife and I had lived for over 30 years before she passed away.

I also remembered paying maybe $4-5 at the time and thinking it was a bargain because the book was in mint condition.

(As a side note, it still is. In mint condition.)

But the kicker was that on the cover was an oval-shaped, orange sticker which said "Autographed Copy!" And, sure enough, on the title page, was hastily scrawled, in black ink, "Tess Gallagher 4/30/92."

So maybe there's some magic left in "The 'Cuse" after all.

Maybe it resides in our memory of the lives that we've lived, or in our dreams and aspirations for the days still ahead.

Or maybe/ it's sitting/ on a forgotten shelf/ of a tall bookcase/ just inside/ our office door...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
1.20.2025

There were repair orders--ROs, we used to call them--scattered on the ground, in the bushes, and even a page or two in an overhanging tree.

I stood there, for a moment, just looking at them. Then, I picked one up from the ground near my feet.

I confirmed that it was an automotive repair order, like the ones used in the various shops where I'd worked, in Syracuse and Houston, some fifty years ago.

But the one I'd picked up was only the heavier bottom copy, the one the mechanic took with him, and kept out on the shop floor, while he did the work.

The top copies, the lighter paper ones with carbon paper in between, were missing, having been raggedly torn off instead of along the perforations, as intended.

Walking a few more steps, along the sidewalk fronting the place, I came to what looked like a makeshift desk. On it were a phone, which appeared to be a landline, and next to that, more ROs.

Looking at the one on top, I noticed hand-written notes which I assumed were being taken over the phone before being abruptly cut off in mid-sentence.

Aside from the obvious disarray, it was reminiscent of the outdoor repair shops that I'd been so amazed to see when I first moved to Houston, in the dead of winter, from the frigid northeast.

Now, as I surveyed the scene in front of me, I was suddenly aware of several figures standing near me, men in gray, nondescript uniforms observing me and the chaos around us.

They didn't say anything, but I somehow understood that they wanted to know what I was thinking, what I might be intending to do.

I considered that, for a moment, and then just said, "I think I'm gonna gather up these papers and put them on the desk.

Then maybe put a weight on top of them so that if someone comes back for them, they'll mostly be where they belong."

Beyond that, I thought, there was really nothing else to be done. Because, if it's not your life, you can only do so much.

The gray men said nothing in response, and that's where the dream ended...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
12.30.2024

And my first entry is, "'Brothers in Blues' (2023)--Kirby Warnock," a reminder to order that and another documentary on the life of Stevie Ray Vaughan from Amazon...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
12.18.2024

In the late fall,
before I'd ride,

I used to check
for moisture

on the nearby
streets and roads.

For, you know,
my own safety

and the upkeep
of my bike.

Now, there's
ice and snow

where I used to ride
and questions

about the body
which has,

until these
recent days,

carried me
through this life...

LPK
Dreamwidth/LJ
12.5.2024