Not forgotten

I haven’t forgotten about this place. Writing here is like that thing I know I need to do, and yet it is also that thing that keeps moving around on my to do list.

This week I started my journey walking 10 minutes each day at lunch. It does not matter that I used to bike 12, 25 or 50 miles without any issues. Or hike miles without any issues.

What matters is I am starting again.

I have taken the first steps.

I am not looking at a mountain peak so much as right now


this week

I am starting at the bottom and looking at my feet

as I begin the new journey upward

“A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step”

What if.

There is a lot to think about these days.

Do we really need to go to the store?

Will this be the day where I walk into work and come home unknowingly infected with covid-19?

Will Trump spontaneously combust?

What on earth are those protesters thinking? I mean sure protest if you want, and without all the guns please, but stay safe. Wear a freaking mask. And why all the anger? Who are they angry towards? Really?

What will tomorrow be like?

What will next year be like?

Ground Hog Day – 93 years ago and 4 years ago

On this day 93 years ago my mother was born in Cleveland Ohio. Her family did not live in Cleveland, they moved around quite a bit. But on this one day that is where they were. Hard to believe she did not live past the age of 45.

She was 40 years old when I was born. I was the last of the 6 children she would have. And I have very few pictures of her. But on this day by luck and by cousins sharing photos on Ancestry, I have this one. This one picture of her as a baby being held by her Aunt.

Throughout the years I have done much family history research. I started by using hand written letters she herself had received from relatives back when she was doing family history research.

Also on this day, 4 years ago, my Dad passed away at the age of 87.

I remember the times when he would pull out this little wooden box with two drawers in it and look at pictures. He might show us kids some of the pictures if we asked, but mostly he would sit at the kitchen table and look through them by himself. Here is one picture of him during the Korean War.


if it is badly written
if it is poorly said
should it be kept quiet
or do we throw it into the wind
and wait for it to come back to us
silence is not really a virtue
not all the time anyway


trying to write
it’s the facts that cause me to stop
I have never really been


I have the alphabet forming disjointed sentences leading to open ended paragraphs traveling though my head this morning. And this is what it is like when change is afoot. 


Rob Reiner@robreiner

“Unless one thinks that God likes a pathological lying malignant narcissist who rips babies from their mothers, grabs women by their pussies, thinks it’s okay to murder journalists & pisses all over the rule of law, I’m not sure Trump is the chosen one.”

Sunday musings

The city says that three times a year, we can put out larger junk items for garbage pickup. I live in the city, and it is one of the perks of paying taxes. I guess. An oh the three times a year is more of a fiscal year, not a human year. But you get the point.

Have I had the house in my name for two years now? It was my Dad’s house and the basement, and the second floor is still full of his junk I mean collections. There is just so much to go through. And to add to that, the old man would be sneaky and hide important papers in a box of trash. Seriously.

A while ago, I signed up for junk pickup email reminders. And usually, I would see maybe one email reminder. This time around, I have received multiple reminders. It is as if an email bot somewhere has decided I need to get moving on getting rid of stuff like it thinks I need an extra push or something.

The universe tips in mysterious ways sometimes.


I have always loved this part from Ovid, The Love Poems;

“What can it be that I should find my bed
So hard, the blankets slipping, sleep quite fled,
And through the night, so long, I lie awake,
Tossing about until my tired bones ache?”