About Me

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Since 1984, my light commentary, Marginal Considerations, has been a feature of Weekend Radio. Moving into the 21st century (yeah, I know - a decade late and more than a dollar short), it may be time to explore the format known as "the blog." (Still on the radio, BTW.) I am the author of A Natural History of Socks, illustrated by the late Eric May, You May Already Be a Winner (and other marginal considerations) and The Nonexistence of Rutabagas, plus maybe 1K features, essays, book and arts reviews in newspapers and magazines nearly everywhere, except perhaps Kansas. I live on Lake Erie one city to the west of Cleveland with too many musical instruments, several large plants and no cats. My front door is purple. I collect dust, take up space and burn fossil fuel. I kayak, knit, hike, sing, canoe, write choral music and play hammered dulcimer, but not all at the same time. I read too much and don't write enough, but what's new?

Wednesday, April 13, 2011

My beautiful friend calls

My beautiful friend calls late in the evening. Her voice tells me from the first word that something is wrong. Her father died. This passing is a relief. He's been very ill for some time. Still, even when it's expected, even when death puts suffering to rest, it upends us.

When it is a parent who dies, the very earth shifts and you no longer stand where you were. The death of a parent irrevocably alters a key part of who you are, of who you have been your entire life. Until now. Whether you register it consciously or not, you know this to be a marker. You know this to be the end of yet another phase of your life. And you grieve that loss as well.

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