It was the worst Christmas of my life, and I was only 11 years old.
I have been pretty busy while confined to quarters during the COVID-19 lockdown. I’ve lubricated squeaky door hinges, tightened wobbly drawer-pulls, and synchronized every clock in the house. I’ve cleaned out closets, tidied up the office, shredded stacks of old files and swept the garage floor until I could eat off it. I tilled my garden soil, cleaned out flower beds, sorted through my fishing and golf equipment, changed the oil in my lawnmower, and eaten everything that wasn’t nailed down. Having finished watching Netflix — all of it, I decided to catch up with my Friends on Facebook. Continue reading
I would love to have been a fly on the wall as my parents deliberated over the choice of my given name. As far as I know it wasn’t derived from some cherished family namesake, famous war hero, or celebrity — it was just a name. Continue reading
As I watched the flickering red light vanish down the track an aura of melancholy filled the air. Kind of odd but somehow I felt cheated, much like the sensation one gets after foraging through a box of Cracker Jack and discovering it has no prize inside. The scene conveyed more than just the end of a passing freight train, it brought to mind the demise of an indelible feature of the American landscape. Continue reading
I don’t know why it strikes some harder than others, there’s just no rhyme or reason to it. It seems that its intensity is not governed by love or relationship alone because there are many who have loved deeply yet did not experience grief with the same crippling force. Continue reading
Sorry, I don’t speak lipish…you know the act of conveying a message from across a room by moving one’s lips without actually uttering a sound. People do it when they don’t want others to know what they’re saying, unfortunately, I usually have no idea either. Continue reading
The cityscape rapidly transformed itself as we approached Chicago’s predominantly Polish community. Storefront marquees advertising Polish-specific goods stood out in the bright noonday sun while babushka wearing women scuttled through the entranceways. I was entertained by a shop owner who looked to be chasing after his own shadow as he swept the sidewalk in front of his establishment. The neighborhood possessed a unique character all of its own. They were a “salt of the earth” type of people with a strong sense of cultural pride. Continue reading
The old man at the end of the bar hung over his glass of Rock and Rye Whiskey like a wolf guarding its kill. Wearing tattered bib overhauls and an open crown fedora, he reminded me of GrandPappy Amos from the TV series, The Real McCoys. Continue reading
My boyhood was full of curiosity, imagination, and adventure. It was fueled by the obsession of my buddies and I to debunk the tall tales spun by our not so reputable peers from town. Continue reading
Silent night, Holy night.
All is calm…
Well, not quite.
Not at all, actually.