This is my tumblr.

Walking the neighborhood (at Assumption Church)

Elmwood/Allen (at Buffalo, New York)

Sunrise kept me company on my morning commute 🌞 #bikebflo (at Buffalo, New York)

Going to speak at a Board of Education meeting about data collection and homelessness... (at Buffalo City Hall)

Gentleman on the porch two doors down (obviously I am talking to strangers) tells me that the entire pattern and cross structure was done by hand over the course of 3-6 months. You really, truly, cannot miss it. I think it's aesthetically delightful. #LiveNF (at Prophet Isaiah's Second Coming House)

This is the sort of stuff I plan to write.

Took this photo trying to convince my son to sleep on my back, ultimately a lost cause. Had such a lovely evening with friends. I know the best, and I am lucky. Happy Solstice 🌞

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Full Moon over the Scajaquada Path #Buffalo

at Allentown, Buffalo

I took this photo Tuesday from my porch (and made it black and white to make it harder to ID houses because Hello Futility). I was on the phone with a good friend with whom, just because of circumstances, I hadn't spoken to in 3 years. He moved far away. I moved far away. His internet footprint had ended and I feared he was dead. Nah, just injured. So we spoke for nearly 3 hours catching up, one of those where the physical distance is greater than the emotional one, and I was simultaneously so happy and so very sad; I miss him being around to spur-of-the-moment have dinner with Will and I. My closest friend sent me a compendium of short stories and poetry. Once there was a moment of calm (Friday). I headed to the porch to read them. They were fantastic. They always know exactly how to best string the sentence together, and I could hear their voice in the footnotes. I loved it, I laughed, I reread some sections half a dozen times to soak it in. My closest friend is the one furthest away from me geographically. Australia. They are almost as far as you can be while remaining on this planet. I rejoiced from having this piece of them and was immediately slammed by the persistent grief of their distance. I miss that I cannot stumble down Greenwood Ave on my motorcycle and show up at their house for no reason. Just to hang out and giggle and enjoy the sheer fact I am with them. Today I was on the porch with the kids, thinking how it was Memorial Day, if my friends who hadn't just moved to Germany were here, I'd have invited them to a barbecue. I kind of hate that. I realized that I have a fear of loss, as I stood in front of the house, enjoying a conversation with my next-door neighbor and her daughter, thinking, "I will miss you when I no longer live on [redacted street name]." I won't lose touch if I don't want to. But it won't be the same. I want to grab everything and everyone in front of me and keep them. I don't get to do that.

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