Sunday, December 6, 2009

A Solder Stole His Ticket

I was secretly and only slightly silently pleased to hear the news that my brother, Patrick, would not be flying to Afghanistan.




"At least you're not required to go." I tell him. Could be worse, Patrick, you could be made of chicken wings, marshmallow fluff and baby teeth, but you're not. You are made of Old Black Beard bravery, Spider-Man strength and you have a heart that should be molded into a cutter, like a Christmas cookie cutter, for God to mold the hearts of all big brothers. I'm sorry I never call,
but I'll see you on December 25th.
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Writing Now

Writing is one way to connect with Spirit. Therefore, for me, it has become less of a production   and more of a messy correspondence.

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