My question for Nicholson was, when it’s time to steer Cassini straight into Saturn, will you feel sad? Will you miss it? Leave it to a poet to want to understand the depth of our attachments.
It’s been a while since I’ve written online and in public, and I have no idea what the hell is going on in this draft.
Since I haven’t been blogging, I haven’t talked here about my most recent move: in August, I left Lark Street and moved back to the rural town where my sons go to school. I miss downtown Albany something awful, but as the boys have been getting older (funny how that happens! LOL), it started getting […]
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a wet and cold evening. the boys played lacrosse in the rain. drenched and muddy, they filled up my car with quite the distinct aroma of boy sweat. and i couldn’t have been happier.
yesterday, my 11-year-old announced he was going to change his name to morgan freeman. i would be ok with that, except…
attention, grown-ups: we need to play more. we need to be silly. we need to goof-off. we need to stop censoring ourselves so much.
the pizza was strange and wonderful and delicious. though i’ll make a few tweaks on it the next time around, what doesn’t need anything different at all is this evening.