Letting her get away

 I remember when a handshake sealed a deal, and I remember when a man held the door for a woman and always walked on the outside of the sidewalk so a car splash wouldn't soak her, I Remember when a boy asked her father for permission to date her, and he looked like a serial killer. Do you remember, like I do, the first time you held her hand and it felt so smooth, and the first kiss that made you dizzy? Do you remember Friday under the lights, when your high school football game was played in frigid temperatures, and you gave her your jacket as you silently froze? I remember when I gave her a ring I saved up for; it took forever to pay it off, but the look on her face made it all worthwhile.

I remember having to leave her when I joined the Navy, like my dad did, and his dad before him. At first we wrote letters, but that eventually slowed down until it stopped. I saw a big part of the world and grew up almost overnight knowing that when I got out and went home I'd eventually see her someplace, and I wondered how that would go. That day came when I saw her in a club, dancing with someone who had his arms around her, as she looked into his eyes the way she looked into mine years ago. I remember walking out, looking back as her eyes met mine, and her stopping dancing for a minute to watch me close the door behind me.I can remember running into her at the grocery store, and her tugging on my shirt, smiling that smile that warmed my heart back then. The years had been good to her; a tiny spark lit as my heart beat faster. We went for coffee and talked for an hour before she had to leave, and I stayed until her lilac scent left the room. She was my first real love, and no one else could fill my heart the way she did.
I remember my first love, which ended in a far-away ocean and blank sheets of writing paper. I think of her almost every day and ask myself what our life would have been, but that was just one of many thoughts I had about her, about us, about myself, and questions left unanswered. I'll think about her every time I smell lilacs as I walk down a sidewalk without her hand in mine.

Mike 2026                                                      

Mike 2026

The seasons I remember

 The house is so quiet this autumn day; it's as if time stopped for a minute, letting a season change into another, from the sounds of kids playing Marco Polo in the pool to picking out a pumpkin at the pumpkin patch. Once green leaves, now a splash of colors fall to the ground, leaving bare branches behind to fend off another cold winter. From bathing suits to sweaters, from iced tea to hot chocolate, the changes are a story told in living color that never disappoints. A distant tractor breaks the silence as it harvests the last of the hay and marks the end of another season.

Roadside stands offer baskets full of apples, pumpkins, and cider to families from the city on a Sunday afternoon. The search for the biggest pumpkin farm ends with a field of orange as far as the eye can see, and kids of all ages roam through the rows in search of a favorite. Back home, the firepit holding toys and chew toys for the dog is cleaned out and ready for a cold night when the smell of wood burning can't come soon enough. Piles of leaves stand tall until kids run and jump into them; they are alive as voices and laughter fill the air.
As autumn comes to an end and winter knocks at the door, pools will be covered and grills put up in the garage. Ice skates will replace skateboards, and sleds will replace bicycles next to the grills. The freezer holds a turkey that will soon be the guest of honor at a Thanksgiving feast. A house full of family and friends sit around three tables pushed together as one, and mom brings out dish after dish of everyone's favorites. This day officially marks the end of autumn and gives way to thoughts of the holidays looming just ahead.
A Sunday afternoon in search of the perfect Christmas tree and little voices claiming they had found the one. Then, without warning, a light snow fell from the sky, coming to rest for a minute on the many trees that could have made the perfect Christmas card if the snow hadn't fallen to the ground. A speaker hanging in a tree played holiday music as kids and grown-ups sang the familiar songs they grew up with, bringing back memories of holidays past.
Winter gave way to spring, with the land awakening and sprouts of color peeking through the ground as bulbs became vivid tulips. Heavy coats gave way to jackets, then to T-shirts; jeans were outgrown and cut into shorts, and bare feet replaced rubber boots. Spring meant repairing what winter claimed like a fresh coat of paint, replacing boards on the porch and making sure the lawn mower was in good working order. It meant scattering grass seed everywhere, hoping it would take hold and grow.
Summer arrived, and the pool was uncovered and cleaned; bicycles and grills came out of the garage, and skateboards were well oiled. Fans were turned on, slowly, cooling the house with warm air, while open windows sometimes blessed you with a cooler breeze. Summer meant no school and gave time for exploring the dirt roads and hidden ponds in search of a fishing hole you'd try to keep secret that didn't last long. Soon summer would come to a close as autumn woke up in living color and we began again.

Mike 2026                                                                 

Mike 2026

Saturdays with Dad

 I remember when Saturdays meant doing something with my dad, like me mowing the grass and him reading the paper, making sure I cut it the way he wanted. But it also meant going into town for a haircut, sitting in a chair reading comic books that had seen better days while Dad and the barber talked about whatever you talk about while getting your hair cut. Saturdays felt like an unwritten law: dads and their sons hung out together, taking up a good portion of the sidewalk and going into places like the hardware store and newsstands, where Dad read the news from around the world. In contrast, you looked at the latest comic books, most protected from greasy kid hands with a plastic cover, leaving you to wonder what was inside.

Lunch was a bonus when we went inside the 24-hour diner, and I got to order anything on the menu, which was always a burger with fries and a chocolate shake. It was also when Dad would ask me about school and whether I was trying out for football this year. Did I have a girlfriend or a hundred other questions, some making me blush, but I didn't mind. Being from a small town, it wasn't unusual to run into a friend or two that led to handshakes and small talk between dads and nods of the head between the boys. On the way back home, Dad whistled to the music on the radio as I stuck my head out of the window, catching the air in my mouth like a dog would do
Mom would be standing on the porch watching as we pulled into the driveway, anxious to hear about our day. It was great, I'd say as I ran inside, hoping to watch some television, but I never quite made it before Dad told me to get the gloves out for a game of catch. He always let me warm up tossing the ball a few times at low speeds, and without warning he threw a fastball that hit my glove like a missile on a mission. I'd fling my glove away from the pain, but he told me to laugh it off and get ready for another one. That torture went on for a while until he looked at his watch and told me I was on my own, as college ball was coming on air in just a few minutes.
My dad was a good guy who provided for us and always made it clear I could be anything I wanted and do whatever my heart told me to do. I know I disappointed him at times when I didn't try out for football or join the youth hockey team as my interests leaned more toward being a writer. I believed I had a thousand stories to write about my childhood, and he just shrugged, saying it was my life. Years passed, and I attended the city college, where I received several awards for creative writing. I went on to become a published author, and my first book, titled Time with Dad, sold off the shelves.
One Saturday years later, we had lunch at the diner, where he asked me about my life and smiled as I gave him a signed copy of my book, which Mom later told me he read a dozen times or more. He told me he remembered a lot of the things we did but had no idea I remembered. On that Saturday, I packed my bags to leave, and he brought out the gloves he kept next to my book, asking me to have a catch. I agreed but told him to ease up on the speed, but the missile flew and landed in my glove with a bang as he smiled that smile I remember so well. 

Mike 2026               

Mike  2026

Smell,see,touch and taste

 I'll catch a whiff of hot dogs cooking on a warm, sunny day; I can almost hear the sizzle of burgers and kids holding up paper plates, told to hold them tight so the hot dog doesn't roll off and into the mouth of the family dog.

I'll smell the freshly mowed grass and open bags of pine mulch as young newlyweds work together on the lawn of their new house. I'll catch the scent of varnish as a neighbor readies his boat for the summer, and paint as a group of young people paints the house of an old school teacher too old to climb ladders anymore.
I can smell the river as a western breeze floats through the air and into my waiting nose. Smells turn into sights as I admire the colorful tulips in full bloom planted as bulbs on a cool autumn day. I see a new roof being installed and neighborhood teens working on a car in the street while giggly girls look for their attention. I hear the diesel engine of a semitruck passing by, blowing the horn as a neighborhood long-haul driver stops at home briefly, into the arms of his wife and children.
I can hear the crack of a bat at the ball field where I once played and the shouts of fans echoing in my ears. Running late, I arrived just in time to see my grandson hit a home run, then found me standing up and waving him on. After the game, we went for ice cream with the team, turning a once quiet place into a dozen youngsters making noise and memories never to be forgotten for them and for me.
There are so many things we smell, taste, see, and feel if we take time to, but sometimes time and life don't mix well, and we find ourselves saying, "I'm sorry," to a disappointed kid, with a promise to make up for it the next game, dance, picnic, or by helping fix a broken bicycle.
Slow down, I tell myself. Take the time to smell those hot dogs and burgers, get to the game early for the best seats, give the newlyweds some pointers, and offer the kids working on a car your years of experience under the hood. I'll pick a few tulips for my everything and kiss her cheek for no reason. Then I'll look to the heavens and give thanks for all things that I can smell, see, touch, and taste on any given day.

Mike 2026                                                        

Mike  2026

A daughters never ending love

 His daughter picks him up, making sure no cigarettes are left unattended and that he's dressed warm enough for a cool autumn morning. He mentions that he likes her new car, but he's been saying that since she bought it three years ago. Their first stop is the cemetery, where they pay respects while he speaks softly to his family gone before him, and she brushes off fallen leaves and places fresh flowers on her mother's grave. She never tells him when it's time to leave, as she knows when he kisses her headstone and slowly walks back to the car.

Their next stop is a small coffee shop that's been around for decades. He used to go there almost every day, but since his stroke, he only goes when his daughter takes him something he looks forward to, as he often sees old friends that he recognizes or thinks he does. He shakes hands and smiles, and others return his smile with kindness and understanding.
As they leave, he asks where they're going, looking out the window at the colors of autumn, and whispers how beautiful they are; she knows he's speaking to her mom and two children who left this world too soon. They pass a pumpkin patch that stirs memories as he smiles and touches her hand, asking if she remembered that place. He spoke quietly and asked if they could stop. He reached into his pocket, holding a small basket of apples, but had to ask her to help him count out the money, since all the coins looked the same to him.
It was noon by the time they reached their final destination, a state park that he took his family to every autumn when the kids would play in the fallen leaves, and he would grill dogs and burgers, a smell he never wanted to forget but feared that day was near. She found a place to park and helped him to a picnic table, then she unpacked their lunch as he stared at the old grill, probably trying hard to remember those days long gone.
The air grew cold as the day wore on, so she built a small fire in the grill where they warmed their hands and looked into the flames, each of them reaching back in time to happy days. As the fire went out, she took his hand, helped him back into the car, and turned up the heat as he smiled at her, saying, B"Brrrr." They arrived back at his place, an assisted living facility that she knew deep down he didn't like very much but understood it was for his own good. As they walked down the hall leading to his room, he passed out apples to his friends and showed off the pumpkin he sat on the floor next to his door.
She sat with him for a spell but knew she had to leave, so she hugged him, and he hugged her back with a smile and whispers of his thanks for that day. She went back to her car and wept as she saw him waving at her from his window, wishing things could be different but knowing they'd never be. He left her an apple on the seat of her car; he said it was nice for three years now, as she wiped away her tears and whispered how much she loved him.

                                                                              His daughter picks him up, making sure no cigarettes are left unattended and that he's dressed warm enough for a cool autumn morning. He mentions that he likes her new car, but he's been saying that since she bought it three years ago. Their first stop is the cemetery, where they pay respects while he speaks softly to his family gone before him, and she brushes off fallen leaves and places fresh flowers on her mother's grave. She never tells him when it's time to leave, as she knows when he kisses her headstone and slowly walks back to the car.

Their next stop is a small coffee shop that's been around for decades. He used to go there almost every day, but since his stroke, he only goes when his daughter takes him something he looks forward to, as he often sees old friends that he recognizes or thinks he does. He shakes hands and smiles, and others return his smile with kindness and understanding.
As they leave, he asks where they're going, looking out the window at the colors of autumn, and whispers how beautiful they are; she knows he's speaking to her mom and two children who left this world too soon. They pass a pumpkin patch that stirs memories as he smiles and touches her hand, asking if she remembered that place. He spoke quietly and asked if they could stop. He reached into his pocket, holding a small basket of apples, but had to ask her to help him count out the money, since all the coins looked the same to him.
It was noon by the time they reached their final destination, a state park that he took his family to every autumn when the kids would play in the fallen leaves, and he would grill dogs and burgers, a smell he never wanted to forget but feared that day was near. She found a place to park and helped him to a picnic table, then she unpacked their lunch as he stared at the old grill, probably trying hard to remember those days long gone.
The air grew cold as the day wore on, so she built a small fire in the grill where they warmed their hands and looked into the flames, each of them reaching back in time to happy days. As the fire went out, she took his hand, helped him back into the car, and turned up the heat as he smiled at her, saying, B"Brrrr." They arrived back at his place, an assisted living facility that she knew deep down he didn't like very much but understood it was for his own good. As they walked down the hall leading to his room, he passed out apples to his friends and showed off the pumpkin he sat on the floor next to his door.
She sat with him for a spell but knew she had to leave, so she hugged him, and he hugged her back with a smile and whispers of his thanks for that day. She went back to her car and wept as she saw him waving at her from his window, wishing things could be different but knowing they'd never be. He left her an apple on the seat of her car; he said it was nice for three years now, as she wiped away her tears and whispered how much she loved him.

                                                                                

Mike 2026

Mike 2026

Night and day

 The sun still slept as the darkness stretched. A group of stars refused to quit shining, and somewhere the first sounds of the day were heard. Streetlights go off in unison, and kitchen lights dot the map as coffee is brewed and sack lunches are made and labeled with a child's name. City streets come alive as graveyard-shift workers head home and their replacements punch in with sleepy eyes.

Across the heartland, farmers working in the darkness tend to their morning chores as the smells of a country breakfast fill the air. Moms in aprons and dads in overalls reach for the last piece of bacon, letting their kids share it as they grab their lunch bags and run to catch the school bus. Dads kiss moms goodbye as they pour themselves the last cup of coffee, relishing the day's quiet as the sun shines and darkness sleeps.

Mike  2026                                               

Sleds and skates

 He sat on the porch, eyeballing the old sled he used for so many years. He remembered when he was younger and full of energy; he'd walk up the snow-covered hill, taking a moment to look around at the vastness of it all and silently giving thanks before he jumped on his downhill racer and, with blistering speed, raced downhill, reaching the bottom first and jumping for joy as his kids joined him at the bottom.

He went inside and looked around for his ice skates that must surely be covered in dust after all these years and finally found them stuck away in a closet filled with things long forgotten until now. He sat down on the porch and laced up the skates, then slowly got up to see if he could still stand without bending an ankle or worse. As he made his way towards the frozen pond, he remembered the endless days of ice hockey and skating under the lights with his first real high school crush.
He stepped onto the frozen pond and, with great care, moved one foot after another until he was skating again, slow but sure. Round and round he went, gaining both speed and confidence; his younger self coached him along the way until age slowed him down and he headed back to the safety of the porch with a smile on his frozen face.
His grandkids would be coming for a visit tomorrow, anxious to ride their sleds down the hill and skate on the pond, but little did they expect him to join them. He joined them on top of the hill and challenged them to a race that had them all laughing, until he jumped on his old speed racer and sped downhill to the finish line ahead of them. Warming himself on the porch, he saw them putting on their skates, and without being seen, he laced up his skates and hit the ice with a smile on his face. He grew tired after a while and called it quits, but not before he leaped into the air and spun in circles as his grand exit. He couldn't hear what they were saying, but he did know their faces were frozen in time, awe and disbelief. Yeah, that's what he was going for.
Mike  2026