thisnewday

I heard the distant thunder, or thought I did, as I was doing my AM personal care. Then I heard it again, this time closer. And when I walked into the living room, I could see, through the slightly parted drapes, that the pavement was wet.

And now the rain and the thunder are all around, intermittent but falling and sounding from overhead. And so I'm thinking of moving the bike to the basement to do the half-hour routine on the trainer which is always, grudgingly, thankfully, my plan B for such a day.

In about an hour, I have to drive my grandson to work because the restaurant opens earlier on Sunday than during the rest of the week. So I do have that, these days, to help structure my life.

I also have the hope that his father is not out there, somewhere, sheltering under a bridge to get out of the rain. I have that, along with the weight, the fear, that he perhaps is...

LPK
Dreamwidth
8.1.21

Spent another seven hours in town today, working with my daughter on clearing out the old house. It was, almost literally, like doing seven hours on the StairMaster. She continued working on the attic while I continued in the basement. Since it's a '30s-era, 2-story house, there's a lot of steps in between, and we typically move back and forth between the four levels to help each other out.

Normally, I'd be picking up my grandson--who spends Sundays at his dad's--at about 6 PM to drive him back to his mom's. But today, of all days, he asked to be picked up at seven. And after I got there, he texted me to ask if I could wait while they had ice cream. WTF!

I texted back that I was exhausted and could he possibly ask for a rain check on the ice cream or to have it "to go." He said OK, but it was another ten minutes before his dad finally walked him out to the car and said goodbye. Thankfully, I stifled any expression of impatience when he got into the car.

But as we were driving home, I asked him if we needed to stop somewhere for him to get something to eat. His dad gets up at 3 AM to start driving his delivery route from Syracuse to Rochester and, occasionally, all the way to Buffalo. So he goes to bed soon after Jason is picked up and sometimes they have a late lunch rather than an evening dinner.

This time, though, he replied that his dad had made spaghetti for dinner and that afterwards they'd had cake.

OMG! Only then did it dawn on me that this was a birthday dinner that his dad had made for him and that the ice cream he'd wanted to stay for was to go with cake!

I couldn't believe that it hadn't occurred to me earlier, given that he'd celebrated with his mom on Thursday, my own plans for dinner with him had been frustrated when I'd been snowed in on Friday, and that we'd finally had a party, of sorts, at my place on Saturday.

I guess I was just so fogged-in by fatigue, by the time we wound things down at the old house, that nothing else was registering with me. Anyway, I apologized to the kiddo and texted his dad the same.

I haven't heard back from my son, but assume that by the time I got home and texted him he was already in bed and asleep.

In any case I hope it brightens his day, at least a little, to know that I owned my mistake and wished him a good night...

LPK
Dreamwidth
2.9.2020

I'm not afraid for myself, regarding what comes after.

I'm afraid for my grandson and the others who may wait, outside my door, waiting to hear my voice, to hear me stirring.

Because, If I speak again, it may only be by way of what is written here.

And, if that's my voice, will he hear it and understand?

Will he understand and be comforted by it?

LPK
Dreamwidth
2.14.2019

These days, I sleep in "shifts" and rarely dream. Two hours sleep, bathroom, two hours sleep, bathroom, three hours sleep, up for the day. Which adds up to something close to what I'm supposed to be getting, but not the quality, continuous hours that I actually need.

Anyway, during my last "sleep shift" this morning, I had a dream that my grandson and I were traveling through the city, on our way to some sort of party. Right, my 14-year-old, socially-inept and pathologically-withdrawn grandson and I on our way to a party. (Although, to be honest, I'm probably the geriatric version of him.) Hilarious.

So we're walking through the South Side, the part of town where my wife and I lived when we were first married and which has since plummeted into that urban abyss of drugs, burned-out buildings, and drive-by shootings that has befallen cities across America.

Did I mention that we were walking? My grandson having recently, in real life, lost his phone and I, in the dream, having apparently lost my car because there we were, walking to catch a bus in the worst part of town in order to go to a party. Dreams.

As we're approaching the bus stop on, I think, South Avenue, I turn to look at him and he's gone. My grandson is missing, in the worst part of the city, without a phone. This kid whom I'd so often implored to look out the window as we were driving, instead of at the GD phone, so that he'd have some understanding of where we were and how we'd gotten there.

I said his name, a couple of times, said it without hope of ever finding him, as if the distance that had suddenly and inexplicably come between us was all but insurmountable.

And then I awoke.

And wondered if this dream is in fact what lies ahead of us, in our waking lives...

LPK
Dreamwidth
12.31.2017

Tomorrow afternoon, my grandson will be coming to the house to help with the workshop that we've been building in my basement. Over the summer, he's been here every Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, for two hours each day.

We've missed some time due to illness, his, then mine, but we've accomplished a lot, both in terms of what we've built and with respect to what we've learned. The fact is, the scope of the project was always much greater than the two work benches, the bench-top tool display, and the parts storage unit that we'll be completing this week.

In any case, the parts unit will likely be our last project before he returns to school for the eighth grade in about another week. After that, I'm not quite sure what our work schedule will look like, but I do know that it's been a fun, instructive, and very positive experience for me. And I very much hope that it's been the same for him.

Above all, I hope that I've imparted a few things, life lessons, if you will, that he'll remember later on and associate with our time together.

Because this is a special time for both of us; for him, because of the unprecedented change and growth which comes with the teen years; for me, because of an increasing focus on whatever legacy I might hope to have left when I'm done with this life.

I trust that what we've done, over the summer here, will have made our respective experiences everything that we might've needed or hoped for them to be.

I pretty certain that it has been for me...

LPK
Dreamwidth
8.28.2017

What I need to get across to my grandson is that living a good life is much more than simply not doing the wrong things. It's doing the right things with whatever opportunities present themselves at any given moment. It's showing that you appreciate your life, and the people in it, by actively making the most and the best of what you are and what you have...

LPK
@Dreamwidth
5.10.2017

And so ends another year in the life: my grandson lies sleeping on the futon in the livingroom and Montauk the tall, black, standard poodle lies stretched out on the floor. And it will matter little to either of them that they did not see the ball drop or stay up until midnight.

Her Nurseliness is at work because it's her scheduled holiday to work and my son and his girlfriend have Her Nurseliness's VIP-comped room at the casino since she can't be there.

I'd rather be where I am, here at home with my grandson, than anywhere else that I might be. We've made a home here, a family, for each other and it's enough, at least for me.

For my grandson, I expect that will change. In fact, I hope that will change, otherwise I've not done my job. Which is to make him feel ready for the world outside, the world that celebrates new years and fresh starts and the occasional, fortuitous magic of shared lives.

I've been struggling more than a little with that job lately, having let my own dysfunction get in the way. So if there's to be a new start, a New Year's resolution, let mine be to do a better job in all things so that life will look more inviting, seem worthy of engagement, to him...

LPK
LiveJournal
12.31.2013

In past years, I've usually managed to post something fittingly nostalgic about the end of summer. You know, the last trip to the beach, the marker buoys being dragged up onto the shore, the day-ending walk across the parking lot trailing beach sand and exhausted kids.

But this year wasn't really a beach year, the weather being some of the worst since the year that Mount St. Helens erupted, sending a pall of ash into the atmosphere that chilled the planet and somehow brought almost constant rains.

And then there was the fact that we either misplaced or never received our season pass from NY State Parks and Rec and, even though they knew we'd paid for it this year as we have for the past four or five, all they would do for us is offer a one-day pass. So the grandson and I, despite having virtually lived on the beach in past years, went only once. And not on their insulting, one-day pass, but thanks anyway.

And so, even as the local media yammer endlessly about the last days of the State Fair, the this, the that, the Labor Day traffic home, I feel my own focus turned, almost forcibly, ahead. And indeed the schedule ahead, especially for one who has allowed himself to lapse into a summer-long, sideways drift, seems brutal. Starting the day after tomorrow.

Of course, a lot of it revolves around the grandson, which I really don't mind. Still, it feels daunting and it's most definitely there, somehow breathing on the back of my neck even though it lies ahead.

For starters the CNY Family Sports Centre, where he plays soccer, has inexplicably sprung a last-minute "organizational" meeting for the Fall Fun League which promises to be, contrary to its stated purpose, absolute chaos.

I mean, c'mon, can't you just sit down with all those registration forms, which we've decimated half a rain forest to print out and send in, and, in a nice quiet place of your own choosing, make up the team rosters and schedules that you'll have to input and then email to me anyway?

And why, if you're still committed to having this meeting, does it have to be the night before school starts?

Fortunately, with respect to school, we're mostly OK for the short first week. The clothes, shoes, and school supplies have been bought and organized, although the obligatory and necessary end-of-summer haircut still needs to be gotten. Which, I'm fairly certain, our longtime friend Ahn, the Vietnamese barber, will kindly accomodate.

In any case, I now declare that the likewise obligatory and fittingly unsatisfactory end-of-season journal entry is hereby written...

LPK
LiveJournal
9.2.2013 (a)

We have a busy week ahead, starting today with a trip by the extended family to a town called Old Forge in the Adirondack Mountains. We're actually meeting at a place called Enchanted Forest Water Safari. We're doing it, you know, "for the kids." Or, in the case of my wife and myself, for the grandkids. It is, after all, about a two-hour, hundred mile drive from here.

We did something similar, about a month ago, when we went to another waterpark up towards Oswego which is on Lake Ontario. But that one was much closer although much smaller as well. Actually, I don't have a problem with the "smaller" part. It's easier to keep track of kids and easier for us "old folks" to get around. Never thought I'd someday be writing that, LOL.

Then, if we survive the water safari, tomorrow night will be the first night of our grandson's soccer academy at Syracuse University. The SU men's team made it to the final four this past season, and the academy will be staffed by coaches and players from that team, as well as by noted coaches from around the Central New York area.

There are seven kids from Jason's NYS Junior Soccer Association team who will be attending, and we're hoping it will be a constructive prelude to their upcoming 2013-14 indoor season which starts in late October/early November. Gotta check the dates on that. Also in the run-up to the indoor season will be the "Fall Friendly" league, which the sports center runs just to keep the kids active in the lull between the end of summer and the first weeks of school.

Speaking of which, we went out yesterday for some very basic school shopping. I know his dad plans on taking him for the bulk of it, but my wife and I figured that with our son's uncertain work schedule, along with the other uncertainties of his life, we'd better get it started. Jason actually set the priorities, which were to get the supplies listed by the 5th grade team first and then work on getting shoes, clothing, etc.

The list wasn't terribly long, compared to some years, and I was congratulating myself, as we went though the checkout line in Staples, that we'd come in at something under fifty dollars. Then it occurred to me, on the drive toward the mall where we were going to buy shoes and some of his clothes, that school shopping, when I was a kid, probably never topped twenty-five bucks for everything.

Last year, on a date that will live in infamy, we spent three times that on a pair of Air Jordan shoes! Now, granted, Jason kicked in a third of that from the allowance earned doing chores, and his dad kicked in another third, but I'm just sayin'. Still, the shoes had to be next. I'd been trying to sell him on a pair of Shawn Whites that I'd seen at Target. Shawn White is a skateboard idol who is now shamelessly cashing in on his popularity with kids by endorsing a casual clothing line carried by the retail chain.

Jason, however, was less than enthusiastic about that choice and I thought, oh brother, this is gonna get ugly. When I asked why he didn't care for that choice, he tried appealing to my practical side. Which I, with my declining mental accuities, took as a positive sign. He said that his last pair hadn't lasted very long, that they'd worn out too quickly.

Thinking back, I realized he was right but considering how long kids wear shoes anyway and the fact that they cost less than half as much, I still felt a sort of wistful affection for the Shawn Whites. So I asked him, trying not to let the rising panic come through in my voice, where he'd like to go for his shoes. And he said, "Journeyz Kidz."

Oooh nooo... That's where we bought those, those, those obscenely expensive ghetto fashion statements that he wore about half of last school year before growing out of them. Which sort of confirms what came to light yesterday, as we culled through last year's clothing to determine what could be kept and what had to be bagged for storage and handed down to the little brother: that Jason has grown a full shoe size per year for the past two years.

Once again choking back the panic, I asked him if there were a particular shoe he was looking for and he said, "DCs." I swallowed and said, very quietly, "Oh," trying not to hex the moment with futile optimism. The DCs tend to be more reasonably priced, as in $60 vs. $75, so this could be another positive development. Only $15 difference? Hey, I'll take what I can get.

So we enter the store and the nice young lady shows us the DC shoe display. She has a nice smile and a cheerful demeanor, which I figure should be easy since her job is to conspire with children to take money from old folks barely able to afford their medications much less the latest back-to-school footwear demanded by their grandchildren.

Suddenly, my eyes are drawn to the bottom of the display where, in living color, is a really cool-looking pair of DC high-tops on sale for $36. And then, we are blessed to witness what must surely have been a miracle from above: my grandson liked them.

LPK
LiveJournal
8.18.2013

We had a different sort of evening at home than we normally have. That is, we had an evening at home. My wife and our youngest daughter, who lives with her boyfriend's parents, had walked up the street for a baby shower at the home of a childhood best friend and afterward walked back to our place where our daughter had parked her car.

Her Nurseliness had made sure that this was one of her days off, so that they could attend; she's actually been taking some days off in the interest of possibly surviving until retirement. Work has gotten even more difficult recently because the new Nurse Manager, who took over the scheduling, doesn't have a clue and they end up working short on a unit where the accuities were always high to begin with.

Our youngest is the mother of identical twin girls who are now about 18 months old and between having the girls to take care of and working full time, we don't see her as often as we'd like. But because the little girls were in the care of their other grandmother for the evening, Sarah was able to stay for dinner and a movie.

It wasn't a big deal--I picked up pizza and wings at the neighborhood pizzeria, the one that says, "We treat you like family"--and we watched a movie that my grandson and I really like, Julie Taymore's Across the Universe. It features some 40 Beatles songs, the characters take the names of the people in them, like Maxwell Silverhammer, Sadie, and Jude, and the story plays out against the backdrop of events in the 1960s.

It's sort of a cult piece, a love story that's at once quirky and heartwarming and maybe sort of cool, if you happened to have lived through it in real life. My wife commented that it's sort of like a history lesson but more real and a lot more fun. And our grandson actually loves the Beatles, weird little kid that he is. Cut him some slack, I guess, considering the household where he's grown up, LOL.

Anyway, we had the pizza and wings and the movie and a rare evening together. My son and his GF didn't attend, maybe because he was scheduled to drive out of town at 2 AM or because they're still under the illusion that they can have kids and still have their own lives. But it was, for the rest of us, a nice evening...

LPK
LiveJournal
8.4.2013

Over the weekend, my Samsung flip-phone started acting up. It actually went dead on me a couple of times before a bright light came on and a voice from within it said, with unmistakable SoCal surfer inflection, "Dude, seriously, yer phoene is messed up."

So I went to the Verizon store yesterday and a nice young man convinced me that continuing to resist the on-rushing tide of new technology was futile, not to mention inconsistent with life itself, and besides he would be obliged to soak me $80 for another flip-phone whereas I could upgrade to a brand new Android phone for free.

After consulting by phone with Her Nurseliness, who was more than slightly annoyed that I'd disturbed her at the casino, I reluctantly agreed and signed the contract. The nice young man then proceeded to demo about 3000 functions in 5 milliseconds, after which he threw everything in a bag, told me to write sometime, and sent me out the door.

Needless to say, I spent the rest of the day bitching, pissing, and moaning about this piece of schmidt (local joke) phone that had been foisted on me and came very close to testing its shock-resistance against a lath and plaster wall in the dining room.

My other impulse was to wait for the nice young man to arrive back at the Verizon Store this morning and, as he got out of his car, ask him how he thought my new phone would work as a sort of high-tech suppository.

But I resisted that urge as well and was at the Verizon site on the computer, trying to figure out how the hell to enter simple text on this technological nightmare, when my ten year old grandson gets up, rubs the sleep from his eyes, and asks me what I'm doing. I tell him that I've got a new cell phone and that I absolutely hate it.

Instantly his eyes light up and he says, "Oh, can I see it?" and proceeds to flash through all the menus and apps in slightly less time than the nice young man at the Verizon Store.

Then he hands it back to me and says, no joke, "Cool phone, what's wrong with it...?"

LPK
LiveJournal
7.29.2013

If you've got the time to do it now, then now's the time to do it.

LPK
LiveJournal
2.21.2013

Back in the day, when I was doing a 20-mile daily, round-trip commute to work on my bike, I'd sometimes pause before starting the ride home and think, "Man, what a lucky so-and-so I am."

The afternoon would be warm and clear, I'd have 10 miles of suburban roads and then city streets ahead of me, and there just wasn't a better way that I could've imagined to end my day. And then I'd hop on the narrow seat and start crankin' the Cannondale and all the tensions of the work day would be left behind me, someplace in the dust to which we all return.

It was joy tempered by the thought that I might never have had it in the first place and that someday, in a manner just as unlikely, it might well disappear in that same dust.

I have something like that, now, with my grandson; I'm feeling pretty good, considering a lifetime of mostly job-related wear-and-tear, it's getting later in the day, and I know that I need to think, a little more often, about how lucky I am to have had it this way...

LPK
LiveJournal
6.6.2013 (b)

Just finished my second reading of Cormac McCarthy's The Road. And the thing that has struck me, every time I've sat down for one of the countless micro-installments that have comprised my two readings of it, is how uncannily the voice of the little boy resembles that of my grandson.

More than that, how the spare and scattered bits of dialogue invoke his spirit and at times even capture the character of our relationship. On my side, the role of protector, caregiver, and would-be mentor. On his, the role of naive innocent, imperfectly protected from the brutality of a world in which any hope, beyond day-to-day survival, is never fully formed and only briefly glimpsed.

And in between we live the grim reality of the road, take our daily steps into that uncertain future. Confront the likelihood that regardless of what luck I may have or what effort I might make to extend my own life, there is little chance that I will see this infinitely-precious child through much more than the very beginnings of his.

Perhaps it is life's only mercy that we cannot know the future within a reasonable certainty...

LPK
LiveJournal
5.24.2013

I have new shoes and I'm going to walk in them. To get fit, again. For the boy...

LPK
LiveJournal
4.14.2013 (a)

Yesterday I continued my search for some reasonably-priced running shoes. You know, for when I finally make good on that promise to self about extending life by getting fit. And I'd actually tried on several pairs of low-end, name-brand shoes at BJ's, but had concerns about durability and function.

The latest footwear fetish, now being worshipped in all the sports catalogs and fitness mags, is ultra lightness in weight. Which is apparently hard to achieve, while maintaining things like impact absorption, without an astronomical price tag. Unfortunately this has played into the hands of certain overseas trading partners who are happy to make 'em lighter (thus lowering manufacturing and shipping costs), but who aren't nearly as concerned about whether they're killing our feet.

So I drove out I-690 to the Dick's Clothing and Sporting Goods in Dewitt. From previous experience, I know that even a passing glance at those enticing racks of spring-hued outerwear, on my way through the store to the shoe department, is enough to induce a debilitating sticker shock in an old guy like me. That's because I'm not nearly as worried about the rest of what I wear possibly falling off in transit as I am about the continued functionality of hips, knees, ankles and feet. And so I've adjusted my expectations of price, for the stuff that only covers me, to the levels of a Walmart, Target, or K-Mart.

So if you see a half-naked guy wearing slightly better than halfway decent shoes, on your next trip through Walmart, it might be me. But don't expect me to stop and chat, because I'm probably on my way to pick up a family member at work or at the casino and I definitely don't give autographs.

Anyway, Dick's has decent enough shoes, in a wide enough range of prices including a few "loss leaders," that it's at least worth a look. So I'm standing at the shoe display, along the back wall of the store, when this couple comes in to buy their seven or eight-year-old son a pair of playground shoes. They're obviously from the same affluent suburb that the store is in and I'd bet my Social Security check that their kid is home-schooled as well.

My back is turned to them when I hear the mother yell, "Run, Geoffrey, run." And just as I turn to look, this kid comes flying down the running track, which is part of the fitness motif in the shoe department, and almost runs me over.

And all the parents say is, "Careful, Geoff," obviously concerned that the old fart, who their little sociopath has almost killed, may know a personal injury lawyer other than the one who's now on his way to jail for having kiddie porn on his home computer.

So I say to them, "Heck, if I'd known we could do that, I'd have had my grandson bring his soccer ball when we bought his new cleats."

To which the wife replies, with her back to me and with an accent like Thurston Howell's, "It's obviously a running track, not a soccer field." Yup, they're from Dewitt.

Once they'd left, and the track was cleared of the debris which included my bifocals and false teeth, I turned back to the shoe display and found an all-black Nike with a fully-cushioned sole and well-made upper for 48 bucks, marked down from 60. So I tried on a couple pairs for size and bought 'em. You know, the pair that fit.

Then I headed home to show them to my grandson. Figuring that I might be excused for a bit of drama, upon acquisition of my first pair of running shoes in three years, I say to him, "Now check these out, but try not to be jealous."

And he says, obviously unimpressed, "But they're all BLACK."

"But they're NIKES and they've got the 'SWOOSH,'" I protest, holding them at different viewing angles, as if channeling Vanna White.

To which he says, with crushing finality, "Yeah, but IT'S black too."

Should've known it would be tough to impress a ten-year-old who's been wearing $75 Air Jordans since kindergarten...

LPK
LiveJournal
4.12.2013

He was a long time going to sleep. And after a while he turned and looked at the man. His face in the small light streaked with black from the rain like some old world thespian. Can I ask you something? he said.

Yes. Of course.

Are we going to die?
Sometime. Not now.
And we're still going south.
Yes.
So we'll be warm.
Yes.
Okay.
Okay what?
Nothing. Just Okay.
Go to sleep.
Okay.
I'm going to blow out the lamp. Is that okay?
Yes. That's okay.
And then later in the darkness: Can I ask you something?
Yes. Of course you can.
What would you do if I died?
If you died I would want to die too.
So you could be with me?
Yes. So I could be with you.
Okay.

He lay listening to the water drip in the woods. Bedrock, this. The cold and the silence. The ashes of the late world carried on the bleak and temporal winds to and fro in the void. Carried forth and scattered and carried forth again. Everything uncoupled from its shoring. Unsupported in the ashen air. Sustained by a breath, trembling and brief. If only my heart were stone.

from The Road
by Cormac McCarthy
Vintage Books, 2006

This is how it is with my grandson and me. But, for today, I will resume getting fit and do whatever I can to extend my life, as far as may be possible, into the time that he may need me.

I will work stiff joints and stretch the unaccustomed limbs and push against the weight of this aging vessel, this scarred container of my earthly being. So that when I'm needed I may shelter, protect, nurture and defend. Even if all else and all others have long since failed.

And I will do this until one of us ends, when nothing of what remains can possibly matter...

LPK
LiveJournal
4.9.2013

The nurse practitioner, who took care of my grandson at the community health center, glanced at my book, Peter Heller's The Dog Stars, as she was about to leave the examination room for the last time. It was lying on top of our jackets, mine and his, that we'd been carrying with us as we moved from floor to floor, room to room, for the past three hours.

He'd had a flare-up of his asthma, probably triggered, she said, by the respiratory infections we'd all been struggling with lately. I liked her manner, very professional, and when she asked questions she listened to what we had to say. Some of us feel that's an important attribute in a healthcare professional.

She had a nice smile and an interesting face, too, but I valued the care she'd given my grandson above anything else. Odd thing to say, maybe, but just wanted to be clear that I still have priorities, even when multi-tasking.

So as she's leaving she says, refering to the book, "Is it any good? I have it on reserve at the library."

And I said, "Yeah, I think so, I'm on my third reading."

And she said, "Really! That good?"

And I said, "I dunno, maybe. There's just something about it that keeps bringing me back to it."

After a pause, I said, "Could also be that I used the last money on my Barnes & Noble gift card to buy it and I don't have any choice."

She laughed then, flashing that smile, and walked out the door...

LPK
LiveJournal
10.24.2012

Hanging up my grandson's jacket, which I found draped over a dining room chair, I glanced at the label.

Sewn inside and below the collar line, it said, "Faded Glory."

As I hung it up in the small armoire that serves as his closet, I thought, "As we near the end of our lives, that's what we all wear..."

LPK
LiveJournal
9.27.2012 (a)

I'm seriously thinking about rejoining the writers' group that I belonged to several years ago at the Liverpool Public Library. I left it when several friends and fellow writers decided to break away and form our own group. After that came apart, a few months later, I didn't go back to Liverpool because my son was by then working such unpredictable hours and needed someone to be at home with his little boy.

Our main complaint with the group had been that it met only once a month, for a couple of hours, and you had to know a Congressman, or be willing to perform a lewd act on one, to even get on the reading list. And there was a fair number of earnest wannabe writers who were painful to listen to and difficult to critique without saying things like, "Well, that just f*cking sucks. I'll never get THAT ten minutes of my life back." You get the picture.

But the plus side of it was that we had the use of a very nice community room, with a small kitchen for refreshments, and a meeting format that allowed for something very close to performance art, if you cared to take it to that level. Which, as far as I'm concerned, is what good writing is really about, conspiring with others to make life rise up, off the printed page, to make words ring with that same intensity of feeling that drives us to capture them in the first place.

I'm also thinking that the opportunity to do this may be the only upside, if there truly is one, to this latest mis-alignment of life circumstances and heart's desires which has resulted in the absence of my grandson. Ironic, then, that so much of it will inevitably be about him...

LPK
LiveJournal
1.3.2012 (b)

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Entries tagged with my grandson

The Hope, the Weight, the Fear

My Mistake

Will He Understand?

What Lies Ahead of Us

About a Legacy

To My Grandson: Living a Good Life

A Year in the Life

The End of Another Summer

The Week, and the School Year, Ahead

A Nice Evening

Technology

What I Keep Telling My Grandson

Lucky

Second Reading

For the Boy

But They've Got the "Swoosh..."

How It Is

At the Health Center, Multi-tasking

Faded Glory

Ironic