I can’t get rid of my old, faithful 2009 Chevy Suburban. I bought it used over a decade ago. Early on, I lost it in a big parking lot, so I got a cheap new paint job. I chose the most unique shade of blue imaginable so it would stick out from other vehicles in …
I admit it’s a crappy poem. I wrote it many years ago, during a period of alcohol, drugs and despair. I hesitate to share it with you today, but I recognize so many of my friends are suffering from loneliness. I was reading the book “Together,” written by Vivek Murthy, the …
My mom worked for Roy M. Quick, a bigwig banker in the Chicago area in the 1960s. She thought he was brilliant. I thought he was an arrogant windbag. Much later, Sherry and I named one of our cats Roy M. Quick (by far a better name for a kitty than a pompous banker). Anyway, …
I lost my temper in a big way. I’m ashamed of myself. I thought I had controlled this negative piece of myself, but there it was on full display. What good does meditation and mindfulness get me if I can’t put it into action during those heated moments? I’m too old for this. …
I apologize. I haven’t kept up with my personal correspondence to many of you. And I love hearing from you. In fact, your little notes of appreciation are a big part of what keeps me ticking. Many of your clever stories put my original blog posts to shame. I hate excuses. …
I’ve made at least 50 video calls over the past month, and I feel I’m getting shorted. In other words, I think most of these calls suck. My staff, my friends, even my family say, “Oh boy, let’s get together on Zoom!” They smile. I cringe. On Zoom, people try so …
I have to win this war. It’s gone on too long, and I’m outnumbered and confused. My freshly sodded yard is the battlefield. I am an old, weary soldier armed with chemical weaponry. The enemies are voles, moles and pocket gophers. I’ve studied the films done by scientists …
A few of you may remember the old Patti Page hit “Don’t Get Around Much Anymore.” Well, that’s me. Yet, I look on the floor of my closet, and all types of dusty shoes cover the hardwood floor. It’s as if I’m the old man’s version of Imelda Marcos. I line them up. Including …
Sometimes a picture explodes in my mind that’s too wondrous to let pass. This was one of them. I’m driving in Carson City on Arrowhead Road to the office. I just returned from a stressful two-day meeting in Salt Lake City. I’m not exactly depressed – well, maybe just a …
If you have tracked me for some time, you know I believe stories are powerful – particularly those of self-disclosure and self-discovery. For me, I see my stories as magic windows to my being, my very essence. If I don’t continue writing my own story, I’m unable to …
