Yes, I’m cursing Daylight Saving Time this morning just like thousands of others across the country, but as my haiku this week indicates, there’s another place where I’ve lost even more time than our government-mandated clock-changing activity can suck away from me.

The last couple of weeks (and the next couple) have been pretty crazy, work-wise. I’m working lots of extra overtime to get some things completed by deadline for my latest project, which has severely cut into the time I’ve been able to spend with my family. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but it also gives you a big old case of the blues. I’m hoping things settle down soon and I’m able to get back to my normal schedule, so I can play with the girls in the evenings rather than get home just in time to help put them to bed.  (I’m sure my wife wishes I’d get home earlier, too, so she’s not having to carry the entire parenting load for 15+ hours a day by herself.)

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He scribbled into the volume on his lap, ignoring the cacophony of traffic rushing past his bench toward the freeway.

A shadow loomed over him momentarily.

“Whazzat? A story?” The bum, rancid and bloated inside layers of ratty clothing, settled beside him.

The man ignored his questioner, his hand a blur.

“Hey! What are you, deaf?” The bum poked the man, streaking graphite across the clean page.

The man raised his head. He regarded his tormentor and flipped through the book, located the desired spot, and gently erased a line of text.

The man, alone once more, resumed his chronicle.

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There’s something I really enjoy about returning from a trip overseas. With every step from baggage claim to my car, I shed worries and thoughts of work, my steps growing lighter and more energetic. I climb behind the wheel and on my drive home notice sights and street signs I normally take for granted. Everything clamors for my attention but nothing distracts me from the thoughts of finally returning home.

I pull into my driveway and cannot wait to get inside the house and wrap myself in a warm cocoon of familiarity, hugs, and loving words. Every time I return is better than the last. It almost makes me want to leave again just to get the feeling of returning home. Almost, but not quite. For now, I’ll just enjoy myself and spend my time with those I care about most in this world.

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The Fantasies of Youth

Did you ever want to run away and live in a museum?

Not me! Although I enjoyed “From the Mixed-Up Files of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler” as much as the next kid, the MoMA always seemed like an impractical choice for a stowaway.

No, I’d run away to THE MALL.

Picture it: Spend all night playing the arcade games, stuffing yourself silly in the food court, reading in the bookstores until your eyes crossed, and finally, crashing on a Serta mattress.

What do you mean “You’d get caught”?

Why do you think I took this job as a night watchman?

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They say you can’t go home again.

They’re wrong.

In fact, with that D-Hopper you’re holding there, sliding through dimensions is as easy as falling off a log. Easier even, given how hard it would be to find a— no, strike that. You still have trees, here.

I could go home at any time. Back to the thick, choking air, noxious and burning in your lungs. Back to the toxic swamps under blood red skies. Back to the cancer that awaits, creeping inside you with every breath.

Yes, I can go home again. But why would I ever want to?

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I hope all of you people who don’t have to work or attend school today enjoy your time off! As for me, it’s business as usual (literally)…

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When she was seven, she made a sandcastle on the beach.

The boy next door helped her shape turrets. A courtyard. A moat.

After they finished, he fashioned a tiny paper flag and planted it, the flimsy pennant fluttering in the salt-laden breeze.

When she awoke, the castle was gone, erased by the whispering tide.

The boy and his family had left before dawn.

Now she helps her son place his flag atop a crumbling sandcastle, notes the rush of the incoming sea, and pulls the boy into her arms for an embrace she does not ever want to end.

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