Dinner is a rush of passed dishes, clanking silverware and clinking glasses filled to the top with skim milk, or, perhaps wine.
Once we settle into our food and conversation, we usually meander casually around everyone’s daily experiences or football, to which my wife and daughter roll their eyes and try desperately to change the subject.
Last night Carson opened the evening with this one –
“I want to open a Scotch and cigar bar in Brooklyn.”
It’s not the most surprising thing he’s ever said.
But it made me smile, because he had no fear of putting himself out there on the line for judgement and ridicule, which families are exceedingly good at doling out.
Continue reading When your son wants to open a Scotch and Cigar bar in Brooklyn
Mostly I don’t remember my dreams.
I feel as though I have gone months, maybe years without dreaming. Certainly without remembering having dreamt anything.
I’ve wondered if I’m odd in my dreamlessness. If I’m alone in this world with a quiet head full of nothingness in my sleep.
And then there are nights like the movies. Nights without a break in the action. Nights where the dreams come like waves, ceaseless and relentless.
Where you wake up with your head underwater and you gasp for air between the troughs only to be submerged again.
Like opening your eyes in the depths to the sting of salt water, the disorienting dark and the shapes like monsters in the deep.
Continue reading Remembering to forget our dreams