Category: Growing up me



Summer Sunday mornings on Horseshoe Lake were quieter than most.  There were no chain saws running, no motorboats save the rare fisherman. The Senness kids were in town, at church with their parents and grandparents.  The Brandt kids next door wouldn’t be coming out from town until after Sunday dinner, and if the Holm kids … Continue reading Reverence

My village elders

It takes a village, and mine was well populated. Father’s Day weekend is my ‘take stock’ time; gratefulness for healthy, happy, successful-in-their-own-unique-ways children, a self-check on how I’m doing as a father and grandfather.  It is also a time of reflection and a reminder of the men who played the unofficial and the codified dad … Continue reading My village elders

To absent friends

To absent friends

 “I miss my friends tonight, their faces shine for me, The clamor of their singing like some mad calliope. Still ringing through the Lion's Head until the morning light, comedians and angels, I miss my friends tonight...                                     … Continue reading To absent friends

Time to go fishing

  From the book 'Gathered Pinecones' - on sale now, in paperback or for Kindle:

Small packages (An allegorical, real-life fable for moms everywhere)

My mom found the dead chipmunk I surreptitiously brought home from the lake at the end of the summer I was ten; lifeless, stripe-tailed rodent in a black-and-blue JC Penney shoebox sarcophagus on which I had scrawled ‘stuff’ in obvious ‘keep out!’ black Magic Marker He was well-preserved, lifelike. I, the accidental taxidermist. A car, … Continue reading Small packages (An allegorical, real-life fable for moms everywhere)


“Dying is easy, comedy is hard.”  - Deathbed quote, famed character actor Edmund Gwenn The world is a little less jovial than it was a few days ago. I learned today of the Saturday passing of an old high school friend, Dave McGrew.  As so much does these days, the news reached me stealthily via … Continue reading Requiem


Old habits of youth die hard, but are easily resurrected. It is July; the heat of the summer of my fifty-fifth year and I am walking along a northern Minnesota country road much as I did nearly a half-century ago. As I walk, my attention centers on the gravel at my feet, though I alternately … Continue reading Backroads