My father kept essential personal items like his wallet and car keys on a shelf near the front door of the trailer. As a boy, my dad was something of a mystery to me and I was keenly interested in these things. He had a silver Timex watch. “Takes a licking and keeps on ticking,” … Continue reading Dirty Money
Memoir
Hoop Medicine
My youngest son splashes in the lake with his mother as I anxiously pan the beach for Miles. At last, I feel a momentary pang of love as I recognize him among the frolicking, half-clad children. He is bent over, digging a hole in the sand with a shovel. Wait. I take a step closer … Continue reading Hoop Medicine
The Range of Normal
The seventh grade was a frightening new world filled with children who behaved with the abandon of wild animals. My father dropped me off in the school parking lot. I rode in the frontseat with my mother in the back. After I got out, my father would pull away with her looking out the window. … Continue reading The Range of Normal
Trash Fishing
We celebrated my 49th birthday by dining at Al’s Breakfast in the Dinkytown neighborhood of Minneapolis. My wife and kids feasted on pancakes while I enjoyed bacon and eggs with what might have been the most scrumptious wheat toast I’ve ever consumed. Amazingly, this hole-in-the-wall establishment has been in business since 1950. It has no … Continue reading Trash Fishing
Riprap Sushi
The Big Sioux River is stained darker than my morning coffee from all the silt and manure that’s washed off the farmland upstream. I’m fishing below the spillway after leaving my sons to play at their cousin’s house. I caught a couple good walleyes at this spot years ago--that other lifetime before I was married. … Continue reading Riprap Sushi
The Bridge, the Bird, the River—a Triangle of Perception
I paused on my bicycle ride across the Franklin Bridge because I spotted a small patch of white in the bare trees that I immediately recognized as a bald eagle. Far below in the Mississippi River, teams of scullers rowed downstream toward the Short Line Bridge and the Lake Street Bridge beyond that. The eagle, … Continue reading The Bridge, the Bird, the River—a Triangle of Perception
Waiting for the Sun
The stasis of family life can sometimes seem unbearable. We make origami shapes of our hearts, folding ourselves smaller and smaller to not offend the other. It’s a sad spectacle for the kids to watch, even if they half understand it. “Is Covid worse than cancer?” “I’ve been thinking a lot about that,” she says. … Continue reading Waiting for the Sun
Finding Bukowski
"What is hell? I maintain that it is the suffering of being unable to love." Fyodor Dostoevsky I first encountered Charles Bukowski in a used bookstore, quite by accident, while browsing the stacks for William S. Burroughs. Notes of a Dirty Old Man? The title itself was enough to make me laugh. I paid the … Continue reading Finding Bukowski
A Riverine Christmas
I drink coffee while everyone else is asleep. Alone in an armchair, I stare at the yellow rectangle of light coming from the kitchen. The furnace groans and floorboards creak. The house is like an old man farting. Five more years and it will turn one hundred. I think of the other families that have … Continue reading A Riverine Christmas
Cawing into the Abyss
Crows assemble at this U of M tower like children around a birthday cake, hoping for the killing to begin so they can have lunch. You are fools they say, everyone is black until you pick our feathers. Each December they fill the sky along the river in flocks too numerous to count. Such gatherings … Continue reading Cawing into the Abyss
