One year ago my step-son, M____, and I stood in the seats behind home plate at Growden Memorial Park, in Fairbanks, Alaska. It was just after ten P.M. and the park was lit in shifting series of hues, ranging from a fading gold to a subdued gray as the threat of rain remained as much … Continue reading In The Wee Small Hours Of The Bottom Of The Ninth
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That Other Sunday In Spring
It is now the seventh Father's Day that has passed since my dad died. In those intervening years I have not been prone to brooding too frequently or deeply about his passing, or the complicated way in which we were connected, but I find myself thinking of him quite a bit today. I suppose that … Continue reading That Other Sunday In Spring
Just Thinking 