drmstream[writing]

The smile is never far from her lips, the twin­kle is always alive in her eyes.  She dances through life, plucky, resilient, wise, play­ful. She taught me how to find my soul.  She is my muse and my mate.  She never flinches.  She never wavers. She takes your breath away. Happy Birth­day, T. I love you.

I’m always say­ing to him, “If you leave and I haven’t rid­den your motor­cy­cle, that’s going to be really bad.” We had a big fight at the end of the block party.  Drunk, yeah.  And, can’t remem­ber what got said, but he says that he was a lot worse, kind of ‘I’m say­ing really shitty […]

Cuth­bert the appren­tice cus­to­dian looks around the vast room in despair. Boxes, con­tain­ers, books and glass­ware are strewn across the thick oak shelves, the heavy glass cab­i­nets that had been mitered and glazed by long for­got­ten appren­tices like him, the end­lessly long wooden tables. Every­thing in this stor­age room is man­dated to be made of […]

In the moment that he held her his world was silent. This was the silence of awe. It was unfa­mil­iar to him. He felt like every­thing that was mag­i­cal and impor­tant in his life, the libraries he had sat in, the sketches he had drawn, the excite­ment he felt as he made a point that surprised […]

A few heads turned, like ani­mals at a water­ing hole. Then a few more, and they started to walk, these hip­pos and rhi­nos, egrets and water boars, zebras and ante­lope that we were packed with onto the sear­ing hot strip of sand between the crash­ing waves and the clut­tered edge of the Del­marva Penin­sula. T. […]

So shake the dust And take me with you when you do For none of this has ever been for me. All that pushes and pulls And pushes and pulls It pushes for you. The sto­ries are every­where. Hat tip to reader Dale in Mel­bourne for point­ing me to this.

We have a tra­di­tion on our anniver­sary to com­mem­o­rate the occa­sion by each writ­ing an entry in a spe­cial jour­nal. Here is what T wrote. I share it because it moved me and because it offers an ele­gant metaphor for love. Here we are on our fifth anniver­sary, where tra­di­tion tells us the sym­bol for the […]

How do you know that? Have you been there to see? And if you had been there to see, and had seen none, that would not prove that there were none … And no one has a right to say that no water babies exist till they have seen no water babies exist­ing, which is […]

Love of beauty is Taste. The cre­ation of beauty is Art. Ralph Waldo Emer­son There’s a pur­pose to this great thing that the Inter­net has spawned beyond the cre­ation of com­merce engines, mar­ket­ing cam­paigns and wealth beyond our wildest imag­i­na­tion. The world has become too large, genius too widely dis­trib­uted, sto­ries too impor­tant and creativity […]

We drove from Gran­ite Springs to Stam­ford in the mid­dle of the night. You were born in the midst of drama and fan­fare. I held you in the hos­pi­tal room, fell in love with you and have loved you ever since. I had to go home to walk McDou­gal. I drove back in the middle […]