Tag: slice of life

Remembering Dad Again

I was in the coffee house, deep into writing, when a casual coffee shop acquaintance stopped and said hello. Now a choir direction, he’d spent most of his life as a master mechanic. Cars somehow became the topic.

I mentioned that I was a sporting car kind of person. Car ownership was about BMWs, a Porsche, Mazda RX-7, along with a Camaro and a Firebird.

His response pivoted me to remembering Dad’s cars. Dad mostly drove Corvettes, Mustangs, and Thunderbirds. Aging, he also began driving a pickup, and then a Cadillac. Both were so unlike him.

That’s just like me. Those car choices were ‘needs must’ decisions, exactly why I now drive a compact SUV.

After finishing the conversation, though, I realized that this was the first time since Dad died on the last day of 2025 that I remembered him without grief. Instead, there was fondness and a reflective smile.

Dad was an interesting guy.

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Another Wandering Thought

Drinking and writing in the coffee shop, I briefly emerged from my fog of words. Conversational strands pulled me in.

“We’re losing ’em all,” a customer said to the barista, Preston.

“Yes,” Preston agreed.

“There’s only one Beatle left, isn’t there?”

I flipped the Beatles’ names through my mind: Paul, John, George, Ringo.

“Yep. No, two,” Preston said.

“Yeah, that’s right, Ringo and George.”

Preston answered, “No, George and John.”

“That’s right,” the customer agreed, walking off.

Eyebrows rising, I bit my tongue, resisting the urge to call out a correction.

“No, wait,” Preston shouted. “John and Paul. No, Ringo and John. I mean. Paul! Ringo and Pau!”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Thank dog they came through with the right names.

I don’t know what I would have done if they hadn’t.

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Fridaz Wandering Thoughts

It was the weirdest damn thing. I backed out of my garage and drive this lovely Saturday morning. As I straightened the car and drove down the street, a gray Tesla 3 pulled from the curb, preceding me. We were close enough and angled right that I noticed the driver — an older-looking, white woman, short gray hair.

She went down and stopped at the hill’s bottom. As I pulled in behind her, another gray Tesla 3 cruised by. Hand to Dog, that Tesla’s driver looked just like the first two.

The Tesla ahead turned left, falling in line with the first gray Tesla. Gasping with delighted surprise at such serendipity, I pulled up to the stop sign. Another gray Tesla 3 went by with another white, female, gray-haired driver.

No way, I thought. It was almost like a surreal dream.

Settling behind the three gray Teslas with their gray-hair white drivers, I wondered. Is this a trick of my mind, or triplets driving identical cars? I also imagined that an elaborate ruse was being pulled, but who was the intended victim?

Temptation arose to follow them and see if the three cars ended at the place and if the drivers really looked alike. But coffee, writing, and routine called, and I peeled away, leaving the mystery to be solved by another.

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The Writing Moment

Standing and stretching from my coffee-shop table, I said, “Hi, Kim.”

Hair red as a cardinal catching attention, Kim grinned. My coffee-house writing friend. Three novels out there and counting.

“Hey, Michael. You leaving?”

“Yes, the table is yours if you want. It served me well.”

We laughed. I was giving up the corner table, the best for writing, offering comfort, privacy, and stability. Certain tables rock when typing. Precious as we are, the rocking disrupts needed writing rhythm.

Kim went on, pointing over her shoulder, “I was over there but that table is just too low. It makes my back and neck hurt.”

A grin overtook my face. She was as particular as me. “I know! It really makes it hard when you’re hunkering down for a two to three hours.”

Packing up my gear, I vacated the space. She swept in. “Happy writing,” I offered, then went on with a smile.

It was a good writing day for me. Hope it’s a good one for her, too — though, with that table and her talents, it’s bound to be.

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Munda’s Wandering Thoughts

I was in the coffee shop on a writing mission, nursing a stiff neck. Falling asleep in a chair the other night, my head slipped out of position. I’ve been doing micro movements almost absent-mindedly to loosen it.

So, there I was, eyes closed, flexing my neck and head back and forth. A Steve Miller song, “Keep On Rockin’ Me, Baby”, floated out of the speakers. Without thinking about it, I was moving my head side to side in time with the music.

When I opened my eyes, a small pair of blue eyes were watching me—blonde hair, rosy cheeks, pink plastic boots. She began copying me. Eyebrows lifting, head tilting, she mirrored every little motion.

I grinned, and she laughed, and so did I. For a moment, it felt like we were performing a tiny, accidental duet—two strangers connected by rhythm, movement, and the music of another time.

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Sundaz Wandering Thoughts

While out shopping yesterday, my wife and I took a break and had dinner out. Our waiter introduced himself as Zack and displayed charm, humor, and natural friendliness. We’ve eaten at this place regularly, so we quickly ordered and off Zack went.

Our salads were brought and eaten. Then we waited Zack kept coming by, asking, need more beer, more bread, or anything else? We smiled, turned everything down, and waited for our meal.

When it finally arrived, Zack grinned. “I’m sorry it took so long. I was getting worried.”

I replied, “You were getting worried? I was asking myself, what did that Zack do with our order?”

Zack rewarded me by doubling up in laughter.

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