Memoirous

Friday night to Saturday morning—apparently it rained. I was up under the eaves fast asleep. I awoke early to write and found the world weirdly silent. I opened the door and even without the drip drip of rain sensed wetness, the smell of water. I grabbed a headlamp which did nothing to penetrate the darkness, but I knew: the backyard was flooded as happens in the spring. Vernal ponding because of the amount of clay underground. We’re also in a little bit of a bowl. The last owners left us with a sump pump—for good reason. We’ve needed it in the spring and after large rain events. This time we had both. When the sun came up, dreary and bleak weak, I was able to see the edge of the pond licking the fire pit only feet from my Tiny House. At just that moment my daughter called to say there was water in the basement. They have a sump pump but it must’ve failed—just as we have a sump pump in the backyard and at the moment it too must’ve failed. I texted our neighbor to say we were bailing ...

It’s been a while. A struggle. But, there’s been a breakthrough. I’m not sure what happened— For so long I’ve felt like I was being dragged around by my hair, going from one thing to another without agency, like a monkey on my back. It wasn’t one thing but a million unnamed pressures. A sense of why bother. Fear and self-doubt. I didn’t know where to start. I cleared off my desk, I cleared out my head. I sorted through scraps of paper and opened a file on my computer meant to organize my thoughts. I started with making lists. In January I ordered a used copy of Art & Fear by co-authors David Bayles and Ted Orland. I once had this book but must have given it away or left it behind somewhere. I was reminded of it the end of 2025 and thought: the title alone is worth reading over and over. The fear doesn’t keep me away, I keep reaching, but the state of my soul is brittle. I needed to get beyond a certain paralysis. The result of reading this small book turned into a Su...

I was there in heart and spirit. It seems like every community held a gathering. I went online after I got home from work to see how things went in Minneapolis/St. Paul. It was a rally, a call for resistance=all the things you’d expect. But there was also a somber note, a reference to loss, saying names out loud. A reminder of this past long, hard winter. Calling forth spring, hope, change. When Tim Walz introduced Bruce Springsteen, he was dressed down in a flannel and wind ruffled his hair. He seemed so everyman. I know he’s taken a lot of grief these past few years after stepping into the political limelight. He’s taken a few punches. One has the feeling the job has worn him down. Then, when Bruce Springsteen took the stage, you could hear the crowd, but it didn’t feel like a rock concert. I sensed anticipation, like when a priest comes out, someone to say the words and hold up the cup, to lay it all out on the altar. What we need to hear—whether good or bad, something to take...

  Once again, I am prepping for a familiar trek: To Grand Rapids for the Festival of Faith and Writing. I did a search and so much of this blog is dedicated to that biennial event where so many of my favorite things collide. Reading Writing Meeting other readers Staying with Andy and Natalie Quick convo with Luci Shaw—sadly now, no more Riding my bike home Starting in 2014, the first time I attempted to ride my bike home (then it was Chicago and took 3 days), I would bring a bicycle and commute to the conference. Now in 2026 at age 67 I’ll, again, be bringing a bike. I can bring it on Indian Trails and unpack at the station and ride to my host’s house. I’ll stay again with Natalie—except this time they have moved east of the city, so on Saturday I’ll journey to their house and then go on from there on Sunday morning on side roads back to Lansing. Rereading past posts at this blog about the FFW, I’ve remembered authors I was introduced to through the festival and decided to add ...