Things I Keep From My Wife

News of animals, their misfortunes. Hopefully she has not seen these stories. I wouldn’t know.

Broken egg yolks. I give her the perfect yellow rounds, the slightly bigger shrimp, the cookie with more chocolate chips. I am nothing if not vigilant.

Worry about her health, especially her asthma. My anxiety will not help her breathe.

Worry about my own health. The little things. My body is my job, not hers.

Silly, daily mistakes I make. Which might, at this age, cause her concern.

My soiled childhood. This is what therapists are for, to hear the words that must be said to those will not be gutted.

Behavior I regret, the pages of our book I want to rip out. Admission is not absolution. Instead of infecting her with these images, I offer myself now, the improved version, the best I can muster. So far.

Happy Hour

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Happiness is a tenuous state, vanishing under the slightest scrutiny. As soon as we become aware that we’re happy, we break the spell. Most of the time.

I have found a wormhole to happiness, a way to enter and possess this fragile condition, at least for an hour or so.

It starts on my drive home from work, as I reach the neighborhood I live in. Darkness falls early now and I drive with care, watching for evening walkers, a loose dog, a child. I consider how quickly life can cave in, the countless hazards I’ve been spared, through vigilance or luck. The close calls I know nothing about.

I get out of the car and pause on the walkway to admire the silhouette of the giant cedar in my yard, the cold bright stars above it. The air smells of fall leaves and wet tree bark. The porch is lit, waiting for me. I can see the living room through the window, the string of willow lights on the mantle and the mountain sculpture above it. I am smiling already.

The front door is a portal to another realm. I cross the threshold into a place of rescue and reassurance, a habitat my spouse and I created to calm ourselves and honor the natural world. Here is a sconce fashioned of paper birch and manzanita branches; here is a hawk with moonlight on his back; here is a carved wooden owl taking flight from the wall; here is a large photo of a deeply fissured redwood in a forest of ferns.

My wife greets me with a kiss, just like in the old movies, then heads into the kitchen to shake up the martinis—one apiece, never more. Fine gin is strong medicine and should be handled with ritual and respect.

We take our drinks into the living room and sit down to discuss the day. Settled into my recliner, I look over at the electric fire with its obedient orange flames, and the carpet with its undulating lines that remind me of wave-lapped sand, and my wife, whom I have loved every minute of our thirty-eight years together, and my joy is so great I cannot speak, can only wonder how, in this world of microbes and menace and mad men, we have been kept safe, why we were born here and not Somalia. How have we managed to hang onto our vision, our limbs, our minds? How have we survived our blunders, our fathers, the things we will never, ever speak of?

A second thought, the slightest change on any given day, and we would not be sitting here now. Had we been moving toward each other all along? Did our detours bring us together, or did we meet, magnificently, in spite of them? To think that we began our lives no bigger than a grain of sand, then had to swim, crawl, walk, run, bike and drive to reach this precarious moment.

I lift my drink, which never fails to knock the rough edges off my work day, and turn to my wife. I can hardly wait for whatever she might say.

It is this way every night.

Lovers and Loners, a Short Story Collection

Thanks to my publisher and dear friend Mark McNease at MadeMark Publishing, my second collection of short stories, Lovers and Loners, is now available on Kindle. Those with other types of electronic tablets can simply download the Kindle app to their device. The paperback edition will be out in just a few days.

The stories in this new collection feature female protagonists who struggle for footholds in a shifting world. “Parasites” involves a widow who agrees to have dinner with a man she believes is a killer. “Manatee Gardens” explores the relationship between a mother and daughter who discover common ground at a marine sanctuary. In “Chasing Zero” a woman with a mysterious illness loses her hold on the callous man she adores. “Odds and Ends” follows a woman running errands on the last day of her life.

Lovers and Loners is a study of the human predicament: our eagerness and despair, our hidden fears and stubborn hopes, the blunders we make and the ways in which we are salvaged.

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The Problem With Labels

On June 28, 2013 California became the 13th state to allow same sex marriage. This window of opportunity had been opened briefly five years earlier, but Prop 8 slammed it shut, stranding thousands of newlyweds. For five years these legally married couples tread water in a state that no longer allowed their unions. Two days after the Supreme Court’s historic ruling, same sex couples in CA were finally vindicated. Not only could they celebrate the renewed right to marry, they finally had access to genuine marriage, the kind with federal benefits, the kind enjoyed by….what’s the term? Straight couples? That’s a misleading adjective. Heterosexual couples? That’s a mouthful, and overly emphatic, don’t you think? Heterosexual. Homosexual. Why are we defined by our romantic preferences? How is this distinction socially significant, and how can it foster anything but division? That’s the problem with labels.

Take the term “civil union.” Many so-called Christians favor the idea of labeling same sex marriages as civil unions in order to distinguish them from.…real marriages? Why do we need two terms for the same condition? Marriage is a legal bond between two consenting adults. It is not the purview of any religion and cannot be usurped in defense of any religion. Whether you are wed in a place of worship, your own backyard, Las Vegas or city hall, you are legally united. Call it what you want, but call it one thing. For everyone.

The Supreme Court’s recent ruling on DOMA was not complicated. Legally married same sex couples filed a suit against the federal government on the grounds that they were being denied the benefits accorded other married couples. There are 1,138 federal benefits in all, ranging from tax advantages to pension, health and social security benefits. The Court ruled in favor of the claimants and struck down this key aspect of DOMA, declaring it unconstitutional. This decision was inevitable—life wants balance and is always moving in the direction of equality. The only surprise regarding the Court’s decision was the fact that it was not unanimous. No matter. It is done. It is law.

Given the prevalence of divorce in this country, given the shocking statistics on spousal battery and child abuse, shouldn’t we be looking for healthier examples of domesticity? The same sex parents I’ve met are wonderfully attentive and supportive of their children. Perhaps, having fought so hard for their right to be parents, this is a privilege they do not take lightly. Perhaps there are things to be learned from them. What this country needs are more expressions of love, not malice and vitriol. The Supreme Court has opened a door. This is a time of congratulations and celebrations. This is a chance to revel in our unity.

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