CategoryOne-minute Reads

Things Other Than Me

T

Every so often, not very often, I get out of my own head and observe. Not to gather information and form impressions and make assessments, and not to judge and plot and scheme, but to leave all of that behind and do nothing other than experience sunlight glitter on a stream in a way I’ve never noticed. It’s only a moment or two of my attention but for that moment my breath stops when I realize...

Another Year in the Books

A

Today marks two years I’ve been fiddling around with this blogging thing. That’s not really an anniversary cake. I’ve co-opted Harriet’s birthday cake again. She baked it herself, but at least I made the icing and frosted the cake. Taking a couple of hours (or less or more) to write a blog post is so unlike the two-year trial of writing a novel that it’s hard to...

Manufactured Lies: A Strategy for Supremacy

M

I’m really pissed off about the thumping that critical race theory is taking from its enemies. Funny thing is, about a year ago few people outside of academia had ever heard of critical race theory (CRT). Now, almost everyone has, because the conservative right wing has labeled it subversive and threatening (Threatening to what? White supremacy). CRT got its start around 1980 when researchers and...

Favorite Color

F

Some days pass in a whirl of imagination and others are taskmasters hounding me and I get near the end and not once have I taken a moment for beauty, but if I’m lucky and I remember and my timing is right I look a little outside myself and the world shakes me by shoulders and says pay attention fool, the sunset is your favorite color.

One Turn and Then Another

O

Plan ahead if it pleases, but you can see only as far as the next turn you take. One turn and then another. Which way at the fork, how to act, try not to look behind. You alone decide. Under blazing sun through drenching rain over deepening snow against gusting winds. Across concrete sidewalks and rickety bridges and endless asphalt. One turn and then another. Shoved this way, pulled that, and...

THE FATHER

T

A friend recommended The Father to me, with words of caution: it’s hard to watch. He was right. But hard to watch doesn’t mean don’t watch. In this case it means the film is so powerful, devastating, brilliant, and so close to home that the discomfort I experience is illuminating, even reassuring: I am not alone. I watched this film about a man struggling with dementia because I too had a father...

A Social Media Milestone

A

I’m not a big user of social media. I gave up on Twitter a few years ago. Occasionally I’ll share one of my blog posts on Facebook or comment on a friend’s post. I don’t pay much attention to my LinkedIn presence since I’m not networking or building my brand. I’ve never used Instagram or TikTok or any of the other social media apps I don’t even know exist. But there’s one social media...

The Labyrinth

T

This maze of cracked boulders the size of houses and jagged shards of sandstone like the tables of giants pitched at awkward hard angles. You’d best be nimble with all four limbs and your feet and hands because you’ll climb and crawl and mount and squish and wiggle through tight passages under and over a moonscape of rock. Up and down and across holding your balance facing one decision and then...

Children Are Cutting Off Their Parents

C

I just read a troubling article in The Economist: “How many American children have cut contact with their parents?” Quite a few: “. . . Familial estrangement seems to be widespread in America. The first large-scale nationwide survey, recently conducted by Cornell University, found that 27 percent of adult Americans are estranged from a close family member.” The actual percentage is likely higher...

Keep Going, Keep Going

K

That’s Fred in the center of the photo, Number 8, leaning into the first turn of his motocross race, just seconds after a thunderous start and sprint out of the starting gate. Fumes and dirt flying. Combined engines like a jet taking off. A younger man’s game, right? No. Fred is my age–and he’s still a beast on a motocross bike. He came in second in his class on a hot day...

Who Needs Handlebars?

W

How better to accept and appreciate living in the suburbs than riding your bike through quiet neighborhoods of tasteful houses and smooth, paved roads, no hands, lilacs and lawnmowers in the air, sitting high above your handlebars, pedaling, arms stretched out, balancing even through the tiny thrill of leaning into a corner and turning onto the next pretty block, no hands, no hands. What a...

A Tree Grows On Woodridge Road

A

Fifteen, maybe eighteen years ago when the kids were young—so hard to remember every milestone—we planted a six-foot-high sugar maple and said, Oh, we’ll see it grow tall and beautiful someday, and sure enough the tree must be thirty feet high now, healthy and gorgeous in every season. Such a fine tree is our sugar maple, living proof we were here and time has passed. And this year I planted one...

Tulip Time

T

Washington Park was in splendor today. Tulips symbolize deep and meaningful love, did you know? You can tell by their sturdiness and vibrancy and perfection of shape. The way they shimmy in the breeze like life itself. The way they fight to keep their petals for as long as nature allows. What I love about tulips are their graceful cups, their petals of myriad hues, their hearty green stalks and...

David Klein

Published novelist, creative writer, journalist, avid reader, discriminating screen watcher.

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