My father was born in a year of flying saucers. He keeps waiting for them to come back for him, but since he's still on this planet, we celebrated his sixty-sixth birthday today with hamburgers and angelfood cake and books. My mother is reading my niece's unbirthday present to her, a picture book about being followed around by ideas. I spent some time clearing branches out of the side yard. My father is talking about New York City; my brother leaves for Radolfzell tomorrow. Geopolitically, things are worse every time I look. On the household level—this is important—today is all right.
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Active Entries
- 1: Reading your mind is like foreign TV
- 2: When you turn a solemn promise to a blatant lie
- 3: If one year's back on my shoulder
- 4: Me, I'm a rotten audience before I've had my coffee
- 5: I'm not on my own
- 6: You know what comes right after the dark
- 7: I wish I grew Annapolis apples up above Fundy Bay
- 8: Kicking a peach pit till I worry it's blue
- 9: I liked you better when you weren't cool
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