Unexpected consequences

There’s an old story about Chinese luck. It’s probably B.S., which is why it belongs in this blog… An aged farmer’s stallion kicked down his stall and ran off. The farmer’s neighbors commiserated. “Ah, bad luck!,” they said, but Li Chien only shrugged. “Good luck, bad luck,” he said. “Who can tell?” Shaking their heads … [more]

Was it worth it for you?

Everyone worth knowing will break your heart. They won’t mean to. Anything worth having is worth keeping, and you will someday give up your dearest friends, your parents, compatriots… even your children. That’s gonna leave a mark. There’s only one way around it: cut yourself off right now. Don’t go to that party with the … [more]

Books! Brownies! Motorcycles!

So let’s see… ticking off a few of my favorite things: reading, writing, riding and BSing with soldiers. It’s a quadrafecta! Yeah, I made that word up — sadly, that’s another favorite vice. So here’s what we’re up to: South Sound BMW, one of the juiciest motorcycle dealerships in the PNW, holds its annual Vendor … [more]

Humbly submitted…

So there’s this book, and we’ve been tinkering with it, trying to get it all just so. Is it perfect? Of course not. Not by a long, arcing shot. There are typographical errors in the text. There are flaws in the formatting. The only thing that keeps either me or Pretty Publisher from spiking the … [more]

Rain Dog

Someone told me I should go take a walk. It was as good a suggestion as any, and the dog always appreciates it. The ides of March competed with my oversized puppy for Pissing All Over the Alley honors. Hunching along, mumbling at the grey rain, I wished I’d had the forethought to bring along … [more]

Stoplight Epilogue

26OCT 05, United States of America We were almost home when a round number fell out of the radio. I put my hand up to my mouth, remembered that I don’t smoke anymore, and put it back on the steering wheel. The traffic light ahead flashed to red, and we all stopped together. Looking straight … [more]

Gardening Children

This evening, Smalldaughter read herself to bed with Robert Louis Stevenson’s “A Child’s Garden of Verses.” The last person who read that to me was my mother, a lean redhead with a lilt in her voice at bedtime belying the circumstances surrounding her. We never knew why she barely ate at the table, took her … [more]

After the MEDEVAC

We turned in helmet, rifle, vest; packed Hollywood knife Stetson and spurs picture of a redhead’s smile and an ammo pouch with candy to send home without the teddy bear he told his son he’d keep.