The baby was lost. But the anguish had yet to come. There’s an image, haunting but dream-like, that wafts over my imagination, like a thin layer of fog covering a slow running river, whenever I consider the Fall of 1945....
Darkness and distance can not contain a locomotive’s horn. On summer nights blazoned with stars and fireflies, as citronella candles flickered from the back deck where the adults gathered to drink and joke, the sound of the horn would come...
I've stopped connecting with them as their father, largely trying to encourage them to "find something to do" while I go about adulting all over the house -- put things away here, clean this thing over there, straighten this stuff, and on and on. And if I'm not pursuing the next item to be crossed off my list, I'm running the boys to the grocery store or the hardware store or some retail harbor because we believe we need stuff.
I’m tugged by a pair of gravitational forces, which for years refused to compromise and led to indecision, frustration, and tapped motivation. Yanking at one side of me is my lifelong work as a writer. I’ve spent the bulk of...
Somewhere buried in all these boxes and piles of assorted things — notebooks, office supplies, a random sock, photographs — lies the cold remains of an unfinished manuscript. It might be found on one of these four external hard drives....
I couldn’t recall the last time I put much thought into photography. Months maybe. Other than an hour of capturing maternity portraits of my wife on the Jersey Shore back in the Spring, I largely felt a diminished drive for...
