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Their names into the wilderness, in our vanity andAnguish, to summon them from the ether, or to Startle them from the underbrush, where theyHave no business hiding? I’d ask another way. Did the ancestors know that we would whisperTheir names into the ocean curls at dusk or soon After, when the blue water gives way to the void,Cold and black, but still as noisy and full of mystery? They held us as babes, you kno

NOW THAT creaky old dude 19 has given way to bouncy baby 20, allow me to announce my one and only New Year’s Resolution, which is to do whatever I can to defeat Donald Trump in the November election. That’s it, and that’s enough. All other potential resolutions are negotiable and put-off-able. The re-election of this miserable excuse of a multicellular organism, however, would be unforgivable. If you agree, please jo

A current favorite picture book of the two-year old is “Claude’s Big Surprise”, by David Wojtowycz. (Spelling quiz next Tuesday!) Claude is an anthropomorphic polar bear who lives with his family in the suburbs. The story is that the parents ship Claude to the North Pole to stay with a relative, while Mom heads to the hospital to give birth to the new baby, which is the ‘Big Surprise’ referenced in the title. My comp

James Neil Hamilton (1899-1984) rose through the ranks of acting to star in the silent movies of Hollywood, and then successfully transitioned to talkies. Alas, by the 1940s, he was out of work and out of money, and (according to some sources) close to suicide. Faith and grace carried him through, however, and eventually he found a second act to his career in the new medium of television, taking on supporting parts i

Please keep in mind that I took the shower at my friends’ house very innocently, by myself and unaware. Only months later did I learn the history. The husband was a contractor who worked in Manhattan. After he refurbished the apartment of one of his more celebrated clients, Ms. Julie Andrews, he salvaged the pried-off shower tiles from the dumpster. Later, he installed the tiles in the guest bathroom of his own home.

The whimsical side of me wants to argue that a place still holds for stories about kids, baseball, acorns, Seinfeld, and other childish pursuits. Nevertheless, all of us adults must reckon with the 200-pound orange-skinned stink bug that currently is thrashing about the highest office of the land. This essay will have at least one paragraph devoted to an adorable acorn story, I can assure you, but otherwise will focu

Dear Honorable President Trump: We were so sorry to hear that your (outstanding, excellent, bitchin’ good idea) deal to buy Greenland fell through. The island would have made for some lovely golf courses. And we can imagine luxurious Trump Towers dotting the coast, offering vistas of both sea and greens. You’re such an amazing and successful businessman because you recognize a really smart investment when you see it.

St. Louis Park High School, Minnesota, 1979, on the strange and stormy night of our graduation ceremony. A gypsy fortune teller sets up her tent in a small corner of the parking lot, and she offers glimpses of an event 40 years into the future. We newly-minted graduates see our older selves gather at a gleaming Colossus of Football, built over the ruins of a more prosaic facility for which construction would commence

If you want to justify not getting out of bedthis morning or yesterday and also give hopeto people who use pebbles and shells for money, start a winery in your backyard. Call it The FaintingGoat and make pinot noir that’s available only for barter. First obstacle: your backyard  is a narrow strip of concrete and broken homebrewgrowlers, overturned tomato crates, gnawed chicken  bones, crumpled To-