This is what lake cabins are for. You can swim or canoe or hike if you like, but quiet reflective porch conversation, the dialogue of gentle people, is what we’re here for.

From Garrison Keillor, Up at cabin, leave paper on porch. Garrison Keillor publishes short essays on his own site, and they are well worth checking out. (Hint: RSS is handy here. Remember RSS?)

I miss his occasional columns in The Washington Post. I miss A Prairie Home Companion. I miss Writer’s Almanac.

Nothing good lasts.


My nephews reading
photo credit: Melanie Roberts


Do what you can. Where you are. With what you have. —Theodore Roosevelt

It is more deeply stirring to my blood than any imagining could possibly have been.

Hawkeye: My father's people say that at the birth of the sun and of his brother the moon, their mother died. So the sun gave to the earth her body, from which was to spring all life. And he drew forth from her breast the stars, and the stars he threw into the night sky to remind him of her soul. So there's the Cameron's monument. My folks' too, I guess.

– from The Last of the Mohicans, one of my favorite movies, which I re-watched tonight

Dingos know how to relax

Off to San Jose

Another work trip, this time to our datacenter in Fremont, California, near San Jose. I took the A-train from Denver’s Union Station out to the airport for the first time. So easy and clean and unlike Atlanta’s MARTA.

I arrived at the airport ridiculously early, which is my way, with plenty of time to fiddle around the book store (didn’t buy anything), have a twenty minute massage, and settle in at a bar for a nice bowl of ramen. Good day.


No doubt … it is only a matter of time, but then, what is not?

I just finished The Secret Scripture, my fourth Sebastian Barry book.


America is … “still a beacon, still a magnet for all who must have freedom, for all the pilgrims from all the lost places who are hurtling through the darkness, toward home.” —from Ronald Reagan’s farewell address

Father’s Day, 2018

Father’s Day, 2018

Thinking of Billy Roberts, who had green eyes, liked black walnut ice cream and Don Williams songs, taught me to drive a stick shift (on the column, not the floor) in his faded blue Ford truck, and said “bless your heart” when one of us did something nice for him like take him iced tea when he was mowing the big backyard of that first house they bought in Phillips County, Arkansas.

Gone for almost 32 years now. Nothing good lasts.

I believe in love, I believe in old folks, I believe in children, and I believe in you. –Don Williams