I wish I was a fisherman.


It’s always an interesting day when I wake up to Mike Scott or Waterboys songs in my head. Scott was the singer, songwriter of the Waterboys and a more hopeless romantic of my ilk there never was.

So I am in a weird place. Strange and violent or disturbing dreams. That wake me up and make my heart race. And a feeling of gloom sort of hanging over me. Maybe a loneliness for a connection with another person who speaks my language and knows my secret signs. Just some companionship out here on this strange boat. Other seafarers who know the storms and the far lands of a life lived to explore.

My daughter has been great this week and I hear all the time about how cute and clever she is and people make me feel so proud of her. She’s a bit of a handful, but most two-year olds are. But it’s a burden I can handle.

Faith and hope are still sort of oscillating. Like a fan on a hot sticky day in summer. The breeze hits you and it cools you for a moment then it rolls on away and you’re still sweaty and sticky. It’s a journey I suppose, not a process to be completed and resolved. Patience with myself is on high order. Patience with God is more still. It’ll come in time.

So yet another thin entry. I promise I’ll get back to being wordy and verbose soon.


Be well and choose love today. Hate has become so boring and predictable.


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