Day 56 Blogging through the pandemic Sunday, May 17 Hello Fellow Isolates, How are you all faring? I’ve been off-grid for awhile, as far as blog writing goes. Motivation was a bit low. A dark cloud loomed overhead for awhile, whispering things like “You really are not that funny, original…

Day 40 (?) of Blogging through the Corona Virus April 28, 2020 Let’s invoke the intelligence of our former Republican president, Theodore Roosevelt. …

day 27 , April 25–27, 2020 Blogging through the Coronavirus quarantine. I know, some of you were hoping I would stop this project. Ha, Ha, I am back! This title line came from one of my favorite sophomoric movies, Nacho Libre. Jack Black is cast as a Franciscan novice and…

A Spanglish Birthday Poem Pedro Peter picked a perfect pound of flour He patted and pinched and pressed and pulled For nothing short an hour. Pedro Pasta (aka Bigote) cut and dried his lengthy stands of pasta. Hasta! Hasta! In the boiling pot of water Pronto! Pronto! Calabaza y pepitas pimiento y parmesano Colocar dos platos en las mesa Comida perfecta para una fiesta Salud! Salud! Salud! Happy Birthday Peter!

Day Eight An awaited day, the first day of spring. Do you hear frogs croaking? Envision seed packets? See the sprouts of reliable perennials? It is my brother Vince’s birthday. Cheers! Up in Fairbanks, he is throwing his energy in remodeling an annex on his house. They are use to self reliance and isolation in long stretches, not so dependent on coffee clatches and daily community gatherings…. They have children and. grandchildren close- they will get by.

Under the bubble, there is an old 25 meter swimming pool. It use to be a seasonal open- air pool for years, opening around Memorial Day, closing around Labor Day. A noisy no -frills place, with a couple of diving boards. Liability issues required the removal of the diving boards…

Daughter of mine, Survivor, Bangkok orphan, motorcycle-blasted daughter I grabbed you from your precarious roots and tossed you into a alien culture of white skinned ruralish well-intended family and community Those early days, me with no Thai, you with no English, we clutched and clawed at each other with ferocious wildness. The first night there in Bangkok, we slept in the same bed, with you arching and tossing yourself out of the sheets like a fish gasping for water.

The first childhood tree was a big old plum tree in the front yard of my home. It had grown too large for the yard, and the fruit never seemed to get ripe enough, but I still loved the spring flowers and the tangy hard fruit. …

Blackberry thorn, pruned shrubs, weed piles, winter storm debris Gathered up in messy stashes, Anticipating the flames and heat, a flush of endorphins. Usually muttering nonsensical incantations, « Burn, Bastard , Burn. Adding newspapers, and matches, Strike. The sparks and hiss, cracks, and flickering. Spring brush burning.