Pass the coffee.
Outside the mourning doves are cooing. Inside the house, my daughter is declaring the toast to be too toasty (and… Read more Saturday Morning
All I can do is stay present to what she is right now. To her lip with dried yogurt, her feet in my way-too-large shoes, and her little whispers to me about Bob, the Honey Nut Cheerios bee.
Full throttle. That is how the day starts with my daughter. This was the first five minutes of our day: “MAAAAHHHHH-MEEEE!” Arrive at… Read more FULL THROTTLE
So duh duh duh duuuuuuh (that was a trumpet if you were wondering), henceforth I shall commence a daily morning writing, with coffee and assorted rejected dairy-products.
To silence except for Morning Edition and mourning doves. To tired dogs on the unmade bed. To tepid but strong coffee.… Read more Morning edition.
This was a morning I did not want to get out of bed. Not even to write. Not even to… Read more Bird Songs
My grandfather Karl woke up every day at 5:30 am. Voluntarily. I am not normally a Karl. Not by a long… Read more How I learned to embrace 6AM and write in stolen time