from Reflections on a Life, writings and paintings for my father My dad told me he’d be sending me a box with seeds in it. “It should be coming soon,” he said, and he sounded happy. Several days later, he called again, mildly alarmed. “Did you receive the box yet?”…

from Reflections on a Life, writings and paintings for my father The only birds I could identify as a child were the cardinal and the robin. But I loved the sounds of the names of birds. I thought they were pretty. Nuthatch. Sparrow. Warbler. Chickadee. My dad knew them all…

from Reflections on a Life, writings and paintings for my father I can’t listen to Chet Atkins’s song “I Still Can’t Say Goodbye” without going to tears. It’s a song about missing his dad, and in it, he tries on his dad’s hat. I first heard the song when Tommy…

from a series of writings and paintings for my father For the last seven years of his life, my father had a friend named Bradley. The back of my parent’s property abutted the side of Bradley’s lot. When Bradley first moved in, my father greeted him, as he did all…

from Reflections on a Life, writings and paintings for my father My dad was a typewriter repairman. He was a great mechanic. He could take a machine apart, put it back together, and make it work. He used to help me fix things over the phone. He’d say, “You see…

from Reflections on a Life, writings and paintings for my father My father is running toward me at the Drive-in-Theater-turned-Flea-Market. He’s got something blue in his hands. I’m in the lower lot near the swing sets and the big screen. He’s in the upper lot, so it’s a downhill run…

from Reflections on a Life, writings and paintings for my father The night my dad died, Ed and I were outside looking up through the tall and narrow trees, seeing what bit of sky was visible. Ed pointed out Pleides. It was framed by winter branches. I liked how it…