Regaining my amateur status.

April 26, 2014 § 5 Comments

In my early days as a children’s book author I was so constantly on the road I could identify which chain hotel I was in by the wall paper pattern.

At first that life felt glamorous.

I was the traveling circus that pulled into town and when I walked into a school auditorium, classroom or library and stood beneath the Welcome Author Adrian Fogelin! banner and told my stories, everyone leaned forward in their chairs.

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Or your money back!

April 20, 2014 § 4 Comments

Your self-image, that snapshot you carry in your head, is regularly revised, almost always by someone else.

Your mother says your posture needs work, and yup, you’re a sloucher.

Your boss checks the “excellent” box next to, “time management skills.” Woo-hoo, look at you, so darned efficient.

Your dog wags harder when you’re around. You’re great!

Most of those appraising you have skin in the game. Your ability to turn in an accurate expense report, or open a can of dog food directly impact the kind of day they are having.

Some of them even like you.

But some of those who work on your self-image most assiduously know you not at all. But they do know your hot buttons. Like shame. « Read the rest of this entry »

Walking the road.

April 13, 2014 § 4 Comments

Coreopsis.Go, before the men on mowing machines cut down the roadside riot of spring, and tame it short and ordinary, converting a bounty of flowers to a poverty of lawn.

Go. Walk the margin between hard top and fence, asphalt and strip mall.

In that narrow border between travel and commerce spring is buzzing and bending the flowers down.

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Waiting on an old friend.

April 6, 2014 § 9 Comments

Larry Moses at Craig and Laura's.Larry Moses departed his skinny, tired, well-worn body at about the time Craig and I were dedicating Everybody’s Talking to our friend Larry.

He always liked that song.

We knew his death was coming, and before we packed our equipment at the Mickee Faust Club that evening, Craig played the phone message from Larry’s partner Bob. “Larry left at nine.”

Before friends and family gathered to spread his ashes and remember him, there were a few earthly things to take care of, like the little matter of his chock-a-block house.

As Larry would have said with a wave of one hand, “Oh, Lord!”

So, for the last few weeks whenever Craig and I made music in the Reeder garage, Craig has been to my left, and Larry to my right, resting quiet in a cardboard box in the company of his five favorite dogs in a box of their own.

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