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A humid breeze swirls through the predawn shadows as The Beast (my 1990 GMC Safari) roars to life. I hope it hasn’t woken the kids inside the house. Stones crackle under the van as I speed unnecessarily to the end of the quarter-mile drive under a canopy of trees that, in the morning light, will show just a hint of yellow at their tips. But at 6:30 it’s still dark.

I whoosh down wet country roads, a slight fog clinging to my front windscreen. The air carries just a hint of fall leaves, a dash of rain, and, under it all, like the spice you can’t quite put your finger on, some premonition of winter. I’ll take all of it. Continue reading “These are the People Who Understand Why I Write”

I decided to run to my parent’s house, about three miles away. So I strapped on my shoes and headed out the driveway.

Running mostly gives me flashbacks to when I trained hard every summer for college soccer. See, once I graduated, I didn’t run much (read: at all) from the age of 22 until, well, now. I’m realizing that at some point during those 12 years something in my body made unapproved adjustments (like a monkey running amok through an empty factory). My left achilles is very tight, and my right knee gets unbelievable sore after running on the road for about ten minutes.

In other words, I’m getting old. Things change. Continue reading “Running to my Parent’s House, Surprised By Who I Found Waiting”

There’s this interesting aspect of blogging and social media that I’m caught up in. Here’s how the scenario plays out. Continue reading “Come Read My Blog as I Help Promote Stupidity”

I tried coming up with some way of communicating the impact and power of the stories in Not Alone. The book has 37 short chapters, each written from the perspective of someone who lives with, or has lived with, depression. But instead of trying to summarize what these folks had to say, I thought I’d share their own words with you.

“I first met Jesus at age four. An average man, he sat in a red chair and watched my grandfather rape me. Jesus looked straight into my eyes, never turning away in shame or disgust, and until I blacked out from pain and suffocation, he spoke into my mind, ‘You’re going to be OK. I’m right here. I’ll not leave you, now or ever.’ Believing him kept me sane” Joy Wilson Continue reading “Depression, Loneliness, and the Power of Stories”

Today’s post is an interview with Jen Luitweiler, author of “Run With Me: An Accidental Runner and the Power of Poo” (links to Jen and her book at the bottom of the page). Read on! Continue reading “Five Questions With Author Jen Luitwieler: On Running and Poo”

Yesterday afternoon Maile and I carried something from the house to the garage that probably would have left spectators rather curious. It’s a bit of a walk between the two buildings, and our feet slipped a little on the stone driveway.

I walked in front, holding it against my back, and since it was kind of a two-person operation, Maile came behind me, also helping to carry it. I had made a wisecrack about this thing just inside the door, but Maile nearly crumbled into tears, so I decided to keep my mouth shut. Continue reading “Tears, Screaming, and 82 Steps to the Garage”