Howard McBroom.

If you follow the link, watch the video of Howard.

Then go on about your life.



I first read about Howard when this article appeared last month in the LA Times. Since then I have thought about him almost every day.





The Woman on the Verge is in The City That She Loves, taking her mother to the airport so she can go back home and recover from her stay with us. I love to think of my wife up there, knowing how happy that place makes her. And I’m glad her mother gets to see her there, too, although I wonder if she’ll notice how much her daughter loves that city.

Mothers and daughters.

There’s some rich shit there, huh?


Anyway, I spent yesterday doing nothing but watching Rescue Me with my kid and the grandbaby, and reading the interwebs. The day got away from me.

So this morning, I’m getting in gear. Walk the dog. Clean the house. Swap the bed and futon around as directed. Wash the dog. Get something going in the kitchen so the woman comes home to a house that is redolent with garlic and onions and goodness of some sort and she can get out of those wet things and have a hot shower and a cold drink and eat a good meal and then lie on the sofa and get her feet rubbed while she tells me all about it.

Or falls asleep.

Whatever she feels like.




I spent a lot of time last night wandering around in my old posts.


I find it a reliable therapy.


I’d like to figure out some way to cobble something out of it if I can.




Meanwhile, still digging myself in deeper, clinging hard to my worst self, as if he will save me.