the creak of dusty bones

It’s Saturday morning and we’re getting ready to take Cohen to baseball practice.

He’s nervous.

He’s six.  Keaton is eleven.  

Sometimes that’s hard for me to comprehend.  

Listening to the Grateful Dead channel on satellite radio.  

Just got back from a week-long vacation at Disneyland (for Keaton’s birthday).  

Decided I’m going to wear flip-flops today despite the overcast skies and chilly temperature.  

A lot has changed, but a lot has also stayed the same.  

I want to start writing again, mainly because I think it’ll help me re-assert my forfeit claim on my own time.  

I figured maybe I’d start small, something easy.  

Try to keep it up.  

Not giving myself the best odds.

That’ll do.

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