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REOPENING

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REOPENING

Wags and Wiggles, the local doggie day care, reopened this week — and not a moment too soon. Django was getting the same cabin fever as the rest of us, despite more trips to the dog park than he'd ever experienced. He's a hound and alert barker, with a propensity for taking personal responsibility for our safety and well-being, patrolling the backyard and howling at any perceived threats. Having us around the house 24-7 put him on high alert. He's adorable but anxious, and finally getting the chance to once again hang out with a bunch of dogs all day has calmed him down a bunch.

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RED CUPS

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RED CUPS

If I was president (and what historian wouldn't want to sit behind the Resolute desk?), this current state of pandemic would be catnip. I would be Churchillian in my oration, telling people the full truth of what's happening and then stirring them to band together and work as a nation to defeat this monumental threat.

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SPINNING

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SPINNING

I took Django to the dog park today. What used to be a chore is now an escape, so I sat on a bench as he trotted around with other dogs, check and rechecking my social media, because that's the only form of outside connection these days. If I had to estimate the difference in screen time from two weeks ago to now, the difference would not be measured in minutes, but in passion: from "enthusiastic" to "obsessed.”

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NEW AUTHOR PHOTO

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NEW AUTHOR PHOTO

I'm afraid I haven't been completely honest with all of you. As much as I love the author photo posted on this site, it was taken at least fifteen years ago. For various reasons, I've never gotten around to getting a new one. But as it becomes clear that I am an older and more grizzled version of that guy, I'm not just going to leap blindly into the world of author photos.

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TO BE A RUNNER

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TO BE A RUNNER

An excerpt from the new paperback edition of To Be a Runner. . . . "Ever think of giving it a try?" It was a year since my knee surgery. Liam needed new running shoes, so we were back at our local shop, the same place where I decompensated after that morning at the symphony. My youngest son was now a senior captain on the JSerra cross country team, tall, independent, and fully versed in the ritual of purchasing trainers and flats.

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THE BIG DANCE

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THE BIG DANCE

I won my bracket. . . . Thanks to an iffy last-minute foul — and a non-call — I win. As champion, our punishment is that the loser now has to chug a six-pack of the beer of my choosing. Our group numbers several grown men who have achieved considerable success in a wide variety of fields, [b]ut when it came time to select a penalty for losing the bracket, we all resorted to the residue of our college days.