In search of story


December 19.19

Language isn’t always words —

it’s far more complicated;

not everything in life

can be articulated.

That’s why the things of Christmas

assemble every year,

preserving time and place

we won’t let disappear.

Each family has a history,

hero, legend, fiend;

words fall short, but things

keep them evergreened.


There is nothing in this photo, dear reader, that doesn’t tell a story, including the chunk of mid-century furniture that belonged to my parents. Not everyone celebrates Christmas: I get that. But most people understand how things tell a story, and we probably all have at least one thing tucked away somewhere that says more than words alone can say.

For me to put into words everything said here would require an epic. There are things from my Grandma O’Hern’s house. From my sons’ childhoods. From my bachelor days. From friends, from family. Then to now.

Sometimes meaning is better told without words.


Disconnections: December 25.18


Do you remember, dear reader, two Christmases ago when my big beautiful tree fell flat on its face, ornaments and all? And we (my son) had to wrestle it across the room and tie it to the bannister with twine to keep it upright? Here it is again. More or less. Well, definitely less. This is the top part.

As you know, this has been the year of The Downsize. The tree is a little shorter, and so am I. We hold a million memories anyway.

Our tinsel might be tarnished,

our limbs a bit askew

but we wish a merry Christmas

and peaceful heart to you!






Disconnections: November 29.18

This tower rose in Ireland

as refuge from the Viking;

I ponder it as something

profoundly to my liking.

It’s possible this holds

the peace that calms, revives:

this could be the place

I might escape Burl Ives.



Ah, yes, dear reader, it’s that time again: time for the onslaught of Christmas mall music, aka noise.

Bing Crosby? Check. The Chipmunks? Check. Tylenol? Check, check.


Special thanks to photographer Art Lindeman.



Connections: December 25.17

Christmas Eve

the veil fell;

on webbed tiptoe

two ducks attended,

thickening the silence.

Christmas wrap

of folded wing

nodding branch

satin of still water —

in such small space

so vast a peace.



Wishing you a moment of peace, dear reader, in the traditions you hold dear.





Connections: December 25.16

SANYO DIGITAL CAMERAI sang along with voice congealed

“the glory of the Lord shall be revealed”

the while wondering with much ado

 if the blasted scotch tape might be revealed too.

And thus

does Christmas time

make the quotidian

the sublime.

I wish you, dear reader, the best of what you celebrate.