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Swoosh, swoosh, splat

Swoosh, swoosh, splat

The most beautiful thing about the ski lift is that every single time I survive it, I am filled with renewed zest for life. Everything from here on out is gravy. I breathe a new air. I also yell “Woooooooo,” which is embarrassing, but it has to be done.

The rocky hills of home

The rocky hills of home

Coming back home was a rough landing. It took me a few tries to get it right. The ground around here is rocky and hard, and famously tough to put down roots in. Home is beloved, home is many things, but it isn’t comfortable.

When news breaks

When news breaks

Two senseless accidents claimed the lives of local men in the last several weeks. There’s no one to blame, no one to rage at. Unless you count the local paper, which is taking ferocious heat all over town for publishing a Facebook post about one of the deaths on Friday morning, just a couple of hours after it happened, before all family members could be informed.

Longest night

Longest night

Despair isn’t new, and neither are the cold, and the dark, and the depredations of the ruthless during lean times. We defy these things at solstice. We talk about “Christmas cheer,” but this thing we do with the burnt-out stub of the dying year is older than Christmas, and it has always been a light in a dark place.

This old house

This old house

The experience of tearing away decades of bad design choices is familiar to anyone who owns and old house. Some day, no doubt, a future homeowner will scratch their heads at our renovations. What can I say? 2017 was a weird time.