Category: Narratives

Inadvertently discovered wrecks of lost endeavors, identified somewhat
By pinpoint shimmering within thickening ash and smoke from a trio of stacks at dawn

Once cut from the world’s rapid assembly…Then plunked back in without sound or blame…You search eagerly for the lever to repeat it, like a carnival ride

Ranked first to last…wisdom banks better from the shade…

Lightning struck the ferris wheel before my kids had gotten their chance…

Beliefs melt…become unrecognizable to non-witnesses…

The pocked and gravel strewn road, parched and narrow, meanders and winds through the wide crevices between a patchwork of fenced olive orchards, fallow plains and fields of sunflowers with their necks bent in prayer meet and end. The road sings up at you in crunchy whispers from under your feet or wheels. The hills are sudden and steep…

Rebecca didn’t bring her famous bread to Thanksgiving this year. Each year, her mom would greet her at the door, each time asking “Did you bring the bread?” even though her mom knew she’d always bring bread. “Yes mom,” she’d reply, holding up the loose paper bag, tented on top of a weathered and seasoned jelly roll pan. Her mom would squeak with joy, make awkward little fists with her thumbs sticking out, and punch them into the air…

When the third police car sped by the small children’s playground at the head of Harbor Road, lights flashing…

I love what Fran Lebowitz has to say. I love the way she says it. Her story-wit brain is always on, ever-ready to pounce on a topic that strikes her. She’s a rock musician of anecdotes, she prefers a groove. She starts with a low grumble, smirking on the details of things. She builds on it with a sly widening lens because she knows where she’s leading us, then reaches her three-chord chorus of what it all means and shouts it out load to a welcoming roar from the crowd. I want to hear her talk and talk and talk…

For the record, Lew is a great, great friend. We no longer live near each other and I miss our time together. He is existential, ruminative, and intellectual. Conversations with Lew run the gamut, but remain anchored to solving the mysteries of “the why.” Why does this happen, and why does this other thing happen too…