Missing Person

Someone I knew and liked died last week. His name was Nathan. I’m not writing for sympathy or to prompt the perfunctory “sorry for your loss” comments that grief seems to elicit these days. That human, AI-esque response akin to “have a nice day,” that has become habit, accompanied by the praying hands emoji doesn’t have context here. We were casual friends, both writers with similar backgrounds and interests. I was in his outer circle, a peripheral player with occasional intersection in person and on social media. I’m not even sure what I’m feeling is grief, but there’s a wrenching pit in my gut that twists toward sadness.

By |2024-07-15T11:33:37-04:00June 21, 2024|life|3 Comments

Match

Today, during my morning meditation, random as it seems, I forgave Lance Armstrong. I suspect there are visions of me all zened up in tree pose, tears of amnesty streaming from my pores in the form of cranberry Kombucha.

The stone-cold reality ­is that I was amped up on my third cup of coffee and had already Wordled (four tries,) done The NYT Mini Crossword, (2:18,) and finished my daily Duolingo lesson to keep my streak going. My caffeinated contemplation was hitting my veins in rapid bursts. I was thinking about chances, won, and wasted, and my mind jumped to Lance and how he broke my heart.

Back in the day, when Armstrong was king, I followed the sport of cycling with starry eyed affection. I wore a Livestrong bracelet even though yellow makes my complexion appear as though I’ve turned jaundice after sunning under a convenience store food lamp. I toted around his book, Not About the Bike, and read passages out loud to innocent listeners. I’m not kidding here, I took the feet hips’ width, chin lifted stance and read aloud to others like it was life’s playbook. It was the overarching platitude that a champion cyclist would write that it wasn’t about the thing upon which he rode that thrilled my soul.

By |2023-04-12T13:55:07-04:00March 15, 2023|life|0 Comments

Heliotropic Tendencies

Photo Credit: Jerry Beil

Over FaceTime, I’m touring New York City apartments with Ryann. The experience is fast and wobbly, think Hollywood Studios Rock ‘n’ Roller Coaster meets Blair Witch film school. The good news is that the property vignettes are short lived since the square footage is equivalent to a post office box and the cost akin to that of a nuclear weapon. All these factors leave me with cell phone induced dizzy bat syndrome – which the Google says may or may not be a real thing.

As options are evaluated and categorized into a spreadsheet, the no-way-she’s-living-there column includes: (1) assisted living, smelly old people-fragrance scary; (2) Freddy Krueger, stabbing in the middle of the night terrifying; (3) ridiculous, extra-loud elevator ding noisy; and (4) the studio with the shower in the closet. For real, there was a closet so small that one would have to reverse squedge through a door where a shower head and drain have been haphazardly installed for one’s bathing pleasure.

By |2023-04-12T14:26:18-04:00February 19, 2023|life|3 Comments

King Room

January 8, 2023

Elvis’ birthday. I didn’t need a calendar reminder or social media ping to remember. I’m a southern girl and I was raised on three kings: Jesus, Richard Petty (dirt track days,) and Elvis.

I was ten years old when Elvis died. Shades lowered and blinds closed as tears flowed down cheeks and turntables circled in tribute. Damn, that was a sad time.

By |2023-04-12T14:28:44-04:00January 11, 2023|life|0 Comments

Fork in the Road

While riding my bike this week, I rode by a man and three young children piling limbs onto a trailer. My estimation has the children between the ages of eight and eleven. The man looked to be in his early sixties. He could have been an older dad or a younger grandpa. I’m going to gamble here with young gramps.

The children were working diligently. No one was whining or complaining even though it was hotter than a wool sock inside Satan’s dryer on the fourth of July. They were piling their sticks in neat formation with pleasant demeanors.

“You got some good-looking kids working mighty smart there,” I commented as I pedaled by. (Working mighty smart is high praise in the south.)

“You want one of them?” he replied.

“No, not today. I’m all good in the young’un category.”

By |2023-04-12T14:30:56-04:00August 28, 2022|life|0 Comments

Friend in Rain

Smokin Hot Love Biscuit serves our household as chief meteorological officer. He has NOAA, Ventusky, and FishWeather. He has alerts. We recently got a call at 3:00 AM about tornado warnings across northern Guilford county. I remarked that those possible tornadoes are four hours away and we haven’t lived there for three years. My feedback does not deter him. He compares forecasts and conducts overlays what may or may not happen in the next seventy-two hours. He hasn’t yet gone so far as to build a weather dashboard, insert a weather satellite, or conduct an analysis of year over year weather patterns. (That I know about.) Weather data is his jam.

His bend toward weather watching becomes heightened this time of year - hurricane season. Over morning coffee, he wants me to examine tiny tropical disturbance cells forming off the coast of Africa. “We live in North America,” I say, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, trying to focus on the swirling pattern on the screen. “Alert me when it gets to Miami.”

“That might be too late. These things can turn without warning.”

“Can I finish my coffee, or should we evacuate?”

By |2023-04-12T14:33:08-04:00June 27, 2022|life|0 Comments

Michele – One L

Michele with one L attends flights from Miami to Dominica. Think Mrs. Doubtfire with a slightly better wig. Perhaps in a previous career she worked prison intake or maybe border control, or possibly she ran the high profile, repeat traffic violation wing of the DMV. Let’s just say that now that she is adorned with attendant wings, she is highly engaged in her job.

Smokin Hot Love Biscuit’s travel guitar rode comfortably in the front closet on the first leg of our trip from Raleigh to Miami, but not on Michele with one L’s flight. Nope, not on her watch. That’s not what that compartment is designed to carry so into the overhead bin with the guitar and any passengers that might be so brave as to smart off about her regulation interpretation. She also had us power off all devices, including hearing aids. (Not really, but I would keep my hair tucked around my ears if I were you.)

After studying Michele with one L for the three-hour flight, I decided to try to make chatty as we began our descent into Dominica.

“What a beautiful place to fly into.”

“It used to be better when the airline only went in from San Juan. With direct daily flights from Miami, this place is being overrun by tourists. They spoil everything.”

“Oh.”

I am dressed in On Cloud sneakers, white jeans, a pink tee with flamingos on the front, and a brown straw Wallaroo beach hat. I am carrying a Bagallini for heaven’s sake. If you google tourist, my face will pop up in Wikipedia. I smiled brightly at Michele with one L, hoping that she will catch the irony of her statement. She doesn’t.

By |2023-04-12T14:34:35-04:00April 21, 2022|life|4 Comments

Bone Loss

Bag of Bones

Guy Clark

He said, this old bag of bones ain't really me
There's a lot more standing here than what you see
He said my back is bending low but my spirits flying free
This old bag of bones ain't really me

Last week, Smokin Hot Love Biscuit and a handwritten letter drove to Knoxville. The letter’s recipient, the great Frank Bryant, has Alzheimer’s. It’s early in this sucky diagnosis of the A word and there are moments - days even - of clarity and lucidity. There are also times when Frank is lost in his mind - lost in his body - lost to accomplish simple tasks - lost to those who love him.

By |2023-04-12T14:36:26-04:00February 14, 2022|life|0 Comments
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