Flowers On the Side of the Road
Sammy exploring the wilderness in his sister's pink boots.
Towards the end of what felt like a very long day, we came down the east side of a gradual mountainside in Virginia. Trees lined the highway, a sea of ash brown interspersed with the occasional drooping evergreen. The sun set behind us, pushing the bus’s shadow far in front of us, all the way into eternity.
North-facing banks held up a thick layer of snow – the south-facing banks looked soggy and water-logged. It was like driving the line between two seasons. Read more 
He Wonders Why There Were No Survivors
At dusk, the sound of a cricket lurches out from the heavy green grass that must soon be cut. The boy knows it’s time to mow because it was soft and warm under his feet that day. When it’s not time to mow it sticks up scratchy and straight like the stubble of his father’s weekend face.
The sky looms gray and blue and dark in the east. He presses against the window screen. It leaves the imprinted feeling of small hash marks on the tip of his nose. He can smell the stinging sweet smell of metal. Read more
The Girl Who Cannot Speak
Every Thursday night the woman leaves her house and drives over soft hills to the home of an Amish family. She walks up to the door, and they let her in with smiles and the typical Amish greeting of a handshake, a nod, a kind word. They walk her to the bedroom of one of their daughters.
The woman walks in and holds the girl. Perhaps she reads to her from time to time – I’m not sure. The girl does not respond, or at least not in an obvious way. She was shot in the head years ago, and she has never recovered completely. Read more
Cade and I Discuss the Merits of an Invisible God Who Often Doesn’t Seem to be Listening
Awesome photo taken by http://jamiebg.blogspot.com/
“Hey, Dad, how come hard things happen in life?”
I stared into the rear view mirror, peering through the darkness to catch a glimpse of my 8-year-old son in the back seat of the minivan. After the meal at Friendly’s, I felt stuffed. Heat rushed from the dashboard, trying to put me to sleep. My recent back pains had even died down a bit now that I was sitting in the van. We were only waiting for Maile and the girls to come out with our takeaway ice cream, and then we’d be good to go.
“What do you mean by hard things?” That’s called a stalling tactic. Read more
A Knee-Jerk Reaction to “Legos for Girls”
I grew up on Legos. There may or may not have been a time in my life when I actually believed most structures consisted of plastic blocks hooked together by raised, round dots. I still sometimes check the top of my head for a circular band on which to attach my baseball cap with the over-sized brim.
Now, at the age of eight, my son is obsessed. Most Christmases and birthdays involve Legos – he’s constantly taking things apart, building his own stuff, then digging the old instruction manuals out of the closet and reconstructing the original (something which requires even greater patience, since by that time all the pieces have ended up in the large plastic, central storage container which contains the remnants of every set he’s ever owned).
I noticed something interesting in the last year: both of my daughters have become very interested in Legos. Read more
