warm onion flesh

I enjoy cooking. I’m not very good at it but I like to try and make dinner for the family once a week. I like being a little creative, like the thanks that come from folks as the enjoy food, like the way my hands smell like onions for days to come after.

No, really, l love that lingering I-cut-onions-with-these-hands smell. I’ve even written about it before. So much so that, throughout the week, I’ll make my hands into a hollow fist and slowly blow warm diaphragm air into them, you know like you’re warming your hands on the ski slope, because it brings out the smell more.

Last night I made a Julia Child recipe. Was good. Family was happy.


I think I’m more in love with you now than I’ve ever been.

There are times when I don’t want to get out of bed in the morning, but not from some depression. Rather from joy. I’d like to stay there, with you, be lazy together. Watch something, talk, laugh, joke with each other, plan, dream.

I imagine I don’t need to go anywhere or do anything for a day, and we can spend time together, undistracted.

I could do that.

a strong sense of duty

I remember those initial few weeks/months at my out-of-college career.

In those days time wasn’t yet the prime commodity it became in the later years. The days weren’t yet too-short for all the work I had to get done. In fact, I remember looking for work… something to fill the “spare time” I had during the day. I would try to read or learn something job-related, otherwise I would go home, often early, feeling guilty, like I betrayed “the job.” I suppose I have a strong sense of duty.

Today I feel that again – having more day than work to get done in it; having “spare time.” I am quite aware that the fact I am “adjusting” to this is a thing of privilege. I mean, this is precisely why I left my former job (at least, it’s one of the few things you’ll hear me alternatingly say was “precisely” why I left) – I just didn’t expect it to be this tricky to actually “own” the return to the vibe.

But I’m working on it, and I do believe I’m making good progress. Things which I, in my old Silicon Valley paced career, may have scoffed at are now things I enjoy: bringing my lunch to work in a sack, taking a break during the day to walk around the lake or read a chapter in my book or do a corner of a crossword, getting in when I want, leaving when I want, not doing anything work related when I’m not at work.

So I am learning, I just don’t quite “own” it. I suppose maybe I’m a concerned that I’ll go too far, end up not contributing commensurate to my wages. I know this for irrational and at-odds with my character, but again that sense of duty signals.

That first career would end up lasting nineteen good years. From it I learned some great habits and skills, but I also took away some bad conditioning.



Last night Sharaun couldn’t sleep, and I always feel a little helpless rolling over and seeing her awake, and awake again, and again.

The light outside is kinda gray and hazy, and the humidity isn’t too brutal. I still sometimes think about the fact that we now live in Florida. The sun is trying to break through and it’s actually quite a beautiful battle, with little straight-arrow arms of sunshine occasionally making landfall through the clouds.

The kids start school in a week. Summers felt longer when I was a kid. It’s somehow August already but just yesterday we were ringing in the end of 2020.

Yesterday I was doing chores outside, wielding a pitchfork, trying my best to turn the soil in the garden beds but realizing it’s been invaded and is basically one big rectangle of roots. No wonder things weren’t growing as I wanted. When it started raining, and raining hard, I just kept working. Thunder, lightning, rain pouring off the contours of my BC hat, pitchfork steadily pulling-up chunks of root riddled soil. We live in Florida, rain is just slightly damper air.

My muscles have been tight at nights. Like, if I stretch as stretchily as I want to I’m afraid they’ll cramp, that kind of tight. I am not sure what it’s from, but I don’t like it. I’ve also been having issues with the pillows – I just can’t get them right. I’ve never been a needy sleeper before.


false advertising

Sometimes I think about buying a pack of cigarettes.

There is something so visually and manually appealing to me about smoking a cigarette. It looks enjoyable, it looks luxurious, it looks like, “I don’t give a fuck about the indefatigable march of time, I’m gonna sit here and spend three minutes smoking this thing.”

But man, they do not deliver.

I mean, I can find them enjoyable at times… when they don’t immediately turn me off with their stink and flavor and headaches and sore throats and morning-after hangover.


what i meant to say

Words are so important.

How you say something to someone is almost as important as what you’re ultimately trying to communicate. After most conversations, particularly important ones, I replay what I said in my head. Sometimes, I’ll realize I could have chosen better words or phrasing, and imagning myself on the receiving end of what I said, that it could have been heard differently than what I intended.

There have been instances where I’ve gone back to someone days after a conversation and said something like, “Hey, on Tuesday when we were talking I used the word ’embarrassed,’ but really what I meant was something closer to ‘regretful’ or even ‘ashamed.'” It may seem small, but, at least to me, there are tiny differences in connotation which can make or break what I’m trying to say.

Speaking without forethought does have value… but most of the times I’ve got what I want to say at least planned to some degree.

And that’s what I wanted to write. Maybe short things like this with no real point are how I get started… get writing again. Done.

coming back

I wonder if the things that are important in life come around more than once. You know, to sort of remind our distracted asses that they are important. Or maybe we set that up; repeat things because we’re that “stuck” on moments.

It’s not lost on me that I did what my father before me did. Sometimes I wonder if we even did it for the same reasons. So, did he feel the way I do, then, too? Did he also feel sad and lonely to watch the kids grow older and need him less? Did he wonder why it’s harder to make his wife laugh?

Does it go in more than one cycle? Will there be another round, another, before the last one? Thor said that the change I want doesn’t come for free, but I think I have been deferring the payments.

At almost 45 you’d think writing like a teenager would embarrass me. You’d be right.