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There are lines from songs, fragments really, that swirl around in my head until the circumstances are just right when they just pop out responsively. A line I have quoted many times in a wide variety of situations is from The Road, a song written by Danny O’Keefe in 1972: ‘you forget about the losses, you exaggerate the wins’.

I reflected on this recently while observing yet again basic human nature play out in interpersonal communications. I observed that when we humans like, or think we like, or will like, someone we tend to focus on the positive attributes and downplay or ignore the negative. The opposite is also true – if we don’t like them, or think we don’t, or won’t, the negative traits over shadow our perceptions and better judgment. It’s a social eclipse of the truth. [CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING]

We sat together, chatting, in the very relaxed space and time friends share during the wind down at the end of a visit. We bounced around many topics over the past few days – those things currently important to each of us, questions posed and answered, insights shared. Catching up with each other’s lives, strengthening the threads that are the fabric of our relationship, making them a bit brighter and maybe even weaving in a few more. (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING...)

Those eyes… warm, dancing. Soft brown, not quite gold. The kind that hold you captive in conversation. In random seating at a long table, I sat across from her. We had all gathered to participate in what has become a Mothers’ Day tradition in our family – the stroll down the boardwalk on the Jersey Shore sporting matching pink braided bracelets. At one point the ladies all huddled, locked arms and enthusiastically sang a song offered to the heavens and delivered through a sea breeze, off-key of course. It was all followed by brunch. I was the token gentleman at the table. It seems they only allow one of us at a time, and it was my turn.   (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING)

I remember our son was still young enough to take his regular position in the back seat of our car. We had spent the morning together shopping for a gift for his mother, then stopped by a favorite out-of-the-way pub to grab a late lunch away from holiday shoppers. When we got home, I realized I didn’t have my wallet. I immediately screamed for him to get back into the car and that we had to retrace our steps to find my lost wallet. I raced out of the driveway, then slammed on the brakes causing both of our heads to whipsaw involuntarily. I pounded my closed fist into the console. Then in the rearview mirror I glanced at that cherubic face seemingly laughing at me with his reaction to the scene I was causing as he said: “Dad, your gonna cause more damage to your hand or your car than the money that was in your wallet”. The little…     (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING)

My route to the office includes navigating the last main intersection to the local high school. I have it easy as I travel the right turn lane through and away from this intersection. Some mornings I see traffic backed up for what seems like miles in the three inbound directions. Strategically located just off this intersection is a Starbucks. Depending on the morning routine of all those teenagers heading to school, the line here can be rather long. One morning while waiting patiently for my Cuppa’ Joe, I was listening and observing. A perky young girl in front of me ordered a Venti White Chocolate Mocha. It’s not so much that it took a while to make this hand-crafted, whipped cream beauty. It’s what she said in response to a question I couldn’t hear posed by her friend as they waited for their drinks to appear: “No, I totally can’t. I have to get to my nutrition class”. (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING)

I sat with my son at an outside patio wine bar on the ninth floor – the Capitol building in front of us in all its splendor, fully illuminated on the shadowed side and reflecting the soft glow of the sun as it sank below the horizon on the other. It was late November in Wisconsin and we were enjoying the unseasonably mild weather and the appropriate ending to a terrific day together. Sipping my Tempranillo, I noticed a black crow as it glided to a perfect landing on the edge of a building across the avenue, nearly eye level to where I was seated. Another bird came and bumped this one resulting in a hop of a couple inches along the ledge. As I observed their nonchalance, I looked down at the street and felt that roller-coaster uneasiness in my stomach. When I glanced back into my son’s eyes, I had must have had ‘that look’ and he asked what I was thinking. “I wonder what it must feel like to know that you can’t fall… that all you had to do was spread your wings, launch into a glide and take flight, flight that can take you anywhere. It must be what fearlessness feels like.” To which my son quickly and very wisely responded “or complete freedom”.  (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING)

This evening I sat at the island in our kitchen watching the rise of this season’s harvest moon, which always seems to me a bit more special than other lunar events. As the evening waned, the moon shone brightly in the ogee window above the space we call the library, which I tricked myself into believing was intentionally positioned there just to capture moments like this. With my mind wandering about possible ideas for this article, I remembered fragments from a tribute delivered at a celebration of our wedding anniversary a few years ago, with a message I think important enough to share. (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING)

This summer, my wife and I had the opportunity to cruise aboard a historic schooner in Penobscot Bay, some of the most staggeringly beautiful waters of mid-coast Maine. We sailed amidst an archipelago laced with granite and spruce islands, broad bays and scenic harbors, the age-old mountains of Mount Desert rising from the sea in craggy grandeur to the north, while the Camden Hills remained ever visible to the west. One particular afternoon we beat across Blue Hill Bay on a course for Burnt Coat Harbor, a cleft at the bottom of Swan’s Island, and we sneaked in the “back door” around Stanley Point. This attractive, well-protected harbor was originally named “Brule Cote” by explorer Champlain in 1604, a name literally meaning “burnt coast”, bearing witness to the charred remains of a forest fire. Its name was later morphed by common usage and the dialect of lobstermen. (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING.)

Pablo Picasso said “the purpose of art is to wash the dust of daily life off our souls”. But for what purpose? A cleansing? A reminder of what is truly important? A way to let the light of the soul shine forth? Or, to ready our souls for a touch from the grace of God? (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING.)

As a former baseball player, when the page on the calendar flips to April, there is still a sense of excitement. Not so much for the start of another season, but for the memories of those starts to the seasons years ago and just how special were those times. The other day, as I approached an intersection with a right turn lane, I stopped and inched forward of the car next to me to look left. I caught the eyes of the passenger in the car and he looked right at me – a 10 or 12 year old boy, still young enough that his mother was driving him to baseball practice. His right elbow crooked and perched on the door of that open windowed car. The freckled face. The brown hair and eyes. The straight teeth. It was like staring into a mirror with a 50 year lag in reflection time. I smiled, then completed my turn and drove away. (PLEASE CLICK ON THE TITLE ABOVE TO CONTINUE READING.)