a field report in four bursts directly off the wire

squawk 1

Bob Seger — You'll Accompany Me – plays faintly on the radio

I’m with strange ladies who tell strange stories. Of empty windows and lost husbands. Misplaced numbers frustrate them as we try to track down persons of interest. They are very chatty and have comments about almost everything.

They’re funny and they’re austere. My wife would enjoy their company, but she is too tired today.

This is too bad as she could be the one to gingerly tell one of the ladies that her skirt has caught in her underwear. I suppose, instead that responsibility will fall to me.

After too short a time together, the two women chatter in an alien exchange that is unintelligible to my earthling ears.

Then my ladies abandon me for more fertile, endeavors, something about a blanket and running an errand. I think I need to put more energy in making sure I have a partner. Earthlings need to stick together.

Last night’s storms left the sky hazy and the sun diffused it’s not exactly sunny and it’s not exactly cloudy. It’s that dusty in between. Visually lukewarm. Room temp.

squawk 2

Lynard Skynard – Freebird is on the radio

A phone call comes. Another marriage is going south.

Oh, if only there were something more I could offer than words of comfort and consolation. It seems like families are a special target these days—years of hard work and companionship being dissolved by acid, rust, or blunt force trauma.

I’ve been thinking about the couple. Over the last four years, I’ve had countless meetings with them—counseling, comforting, encouraging, cajoling, directing. But it’s always the same. Each one adamant that the other must change. Each certain that they themselves are already doing enough. It’s a hard pattern to break, especially in old age.

This is her third marriage. His second. At least the failure isn’t for lack of experience—though maybe it’s for lack of humility.

I understand the struggle. I don’t think it ever really goes away, not for any couple. Even after decades, you just find new things to struggle against.

Now the only words I have left are: I’m sorry. And I love you.

—
—
—

Since you don’t know me, and I don’t know you, let me tell you a little about them.

They married during the pandemic. Both well into retirement and seemingly single and happy.

She lost two husbands to death. He lost a marriage to stubbornness and control.

She is kind, sweet, and soft-spoken.
He is hard, direct, and Spartan.

And that difference extends to the way they live.

She believes a home should be full—of people, love, clutter, memories. He wants the same space to be sparse: clean baseboards, empty shelves, limited belongings.

Her heart is a collage. His is a blueprint.

That’s the best analog I can find for who they are emotionally. One makes room. The other clears space. And neither, it seems, is willing to flex for the other.

Come, Lord Jesus!!

squawk 3

Boston-Peace of mind is playing

I finished my walk this morning in the same spot I found myself last Monday. No sign of the great white Pyrenees this time, and fewer conversations along the way. Still, it was good to be out in the weather, to feel like part of the rhythm of things.

Now I’m back to more mundane tasks—like tracking down a giant pack of batteries. Everything seems to need them these days. I honestly don’t know how civilization functioned before batteries. Or, for that matter, why we haven’t come up with something better by now. Maybe that’s just physics keeping us humble. I’m not smart enough to know for sure, but I’m just dumb enough to float the question.

Buying batteries always reminds me of an old flashlight my grandmother kept in her shed. It was a heavy, industrial-looking thing powered by one of those giant, square batteries—blue, with a little red lightning bolt and two terminals on top like stunted horns. The flashlight always looked new: polished, unscuffed, a mirror-bright reflector. It seemed like it should work beautifully.

But every time I tried to use it, it was a letdown. The beam it threw was dim, yellow, and underwhelming. My cousins and I would take it apart and tinker with it, convinced we could fix or improve it. We never did. Each time it went back together with a little less fit, a little more rattle, until eventually it stopped working altogether. Maybe it was the battery. Maybe it was the bulb. Maybe it was us. That flashlight taught me an early lesson: just because something looks ready doesn’t mean it is.

With the morning half gone, I’ve got someone to find—a young man who’s shown interest in learning more about the Bible. He doesn’t seem especially bright at first glance, but when he answers questions, he’s surprisingly thoughtful. There’s something in the way he pauses and considers his words. I take that as a good sign. He’s a thinker, even if the world hasn’t trained him to act like one.

And if I have any time left afterward, I’ll slip into a quiet café corner and make some progress in my journal. Sometimes the best parts of a day are the ones you don’t plan—the walks, the memories, the people who surprise you.

squawk 4

The Knack – My Sharona (I learned recently there is an actual Sharona)

You know how in the Bible it says Satan keeps making himself into an angel of light?

Well, I think I just had a pizza equivalent of that. Faced with temptation greater than I could bear at Sam’s Club, I purchased a gigantic slice of pizza. Four crusty meats dripping with grease.

It was calling to me. “Caaaahhhhhhrrrrpeeeee….” It whispered.
“Caaaahhhrrrpeeee Pizzzuuummmmm’”

And I, like a cartoon mouse to cheese, threw my $2.71 at the teller fully intending to share it with Mon petit cho… but just like a devil, once I dallied, I couldn’t stop until the damage was too severe for sharing.

As is with devils made light, I’ll be paying the toll with my soul in a few hours.

The real damming is going to come when I get home as I just learned my mother-in-law and sister-in-law are bringing my wife and I lunch. so I’m not sure how I’m going to explain to those three women that I have zero interest in their delivery of burritos.

The sin of gluttony hangs heavy over my head today, a fatty sword of Damocles.

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Thank you for coming here and walking through the garden of my mind. No day is as brilliant in its moment as it is gilded in memory. Embrace your experience and relish gorgeous recollection.

Into every life a little light will shine. Thank you for being my luminance in whatever capacity you may. Shine on, you brilliant souls!

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