As a letter carrier, I get paid to walk in circles. It is not such a horrible thing to stroll through the same neighborhood every day, although the job does get dull and the weather is sometimes horrible. Like any walker, I note the banal passage of the seasons. I had forgotten this collection of … Continue reading Macabre Mailboxes and a Minneapolis Murder Mystery
Memoir
Crows
My brother gave me an album of photographs and important papers that my father left behind. I keep it out of sight in the basement. But sometimes, late at night, when the rest of my family is asleep, I drink too much wine and think about the past. My father sits on a stool in … Continue reading Crows
Roswell City Limits
My father died on February 25th, 2012. He was 67 years old. He had made an appointment to see a doctor that day, but the pain got to be too much and he ended up dialing 911. He had a perforated stomach that led to septicemia which is a bacterial infection of the blood. He … Continue reading Roswell City Limits
Black Brains
The first person I ever knew with cancer was my grandmother. It killed her when I was about fifteen. Growing up, we drove to Watertown, South Dakota and visited my father's parents once or twice a year for the holidays. My grandfather had been a gunner in the Army Air Corp in World War II. … Continue reading Black Brains
Remembering the Hobo Day Riots of 1990–The Skinny Kid Goes to College
I remember the day my father dropped me off at college. I was eighteen years old. I gazed into the mirror after he had gone and said aloud to my reflection, “You’re never going to make it here.” The room was spartan--concrete walls, a bunk, a dresser and a desk on each side with … Continue reading Remembering the Hobo Day Riots of 1990–The Skinny Kid Goes to College
My Father’s Shoes
In my earliest recollection of childhood, I feign sleep in the back seat of a car. Through a veil of eyelashes, I watch motes of dust circulate in a shaft of sunlight like something astral. I remain like that a long time--in wonder of the dust--when I hear my mother tell my father that … Continue reading My Father’s Shoes
Trailer Park
The trailer park was a sprawling place with plenty of vacant spaces for a boy to roam and get lost. One end bordered a huge lot of scrapped construction machinery with a giant mound of tractor tires we used to play on. Sometimes a truck would rumble through the gate and we would run like … Continue reading Trailer Park
Banjo Blueberry Crumb Cake
My wife is forever losing her blueberries. They tumble like marbles from the peanut butter slathered bagels that she sprinkles so generously with chia seeds. She’s a healthy one, a vegetarian, my wife. I refer to them, jokingly, as her “birdseed bagels.” She claims not to see them, these runaway blueberries. They “get lost” in … Continue reading Banjo Blueberry Crumb Cake
Not Your Father’s Post Office
I had a pleasant conversation with a customer, an English professor, about my work at the post office yesterday. He had been encouraging his son, a bit wayward I imagined, to apply for a job as a mailman or “letter carrier” as they call us even though, truth be told, we don’t actually deliver that … Continue reading Not Your Father’s Post Office
Birdhouse
A storm passed overnight and the strong winds blew down the birdhouse that Miles and I had constructed over the winter from some old boards in the basement. I've never been much of a carpenter. The boy stood beside me as I lifted the quaint, but shoddy, peak-roofed box from the ground. I had … Continue reading Birdhouse
