Stateside, Part 4

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JetBlue has it out for me, I swear.

On my Tuesday night redeye from New York to San Juan, they boarded me in the last group . . . then seated a serial killer next to me.

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Stateside, Part 3

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It’s an avalanche of anniversaries during last week and this: my writing mentor’s eighty-ninth birthday on the nineteenth, my wedding date on the twentieth, and the commemoration of the third year since my wife died, today.

I thought the best way to handle it all was to seek sanctuary.

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Stateside, Part 2

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When last I left you, I was happily looking forward to driving from Connecticut to visit friends on Cape Cod, where I lived for more than twenty years.

I knew surprises and setbacks might be lurking . . . and they were.

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Stateside, Part 1

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It’s been five months since I took up permanent residence in Puerto Rico. During that time I’ve been extraordinarily busy restoring my Vieques house in time for winter season rentals. So with my first guests currently at the house for three weeks, I decided it was time for me to take a break. You know: refill the tank, sharpen the saw, charge the batteries.

Since I departed for my stateside trip on Wednesday, though, I’m already missing the relatively predictable peace of Vieques.

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Casting Out Devils

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I thought it was over for me when my wife died almost three years ago. Breast cancer, that is. Until I learned this past week that two close friends are wrestling with the ravages of the disease.

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Blossom and Wither

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Much of the Christian world paused yesterday to celebrate dead people. I did, too. Not with partying, but with poetry.

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It Is Good that I Exist

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It’s a chicken-and-egg question. Must you love yourself before you can love someone else? Or must someone else love you before you can love yourself?

What follows is the story of an adulterous love triangle in which both women ended up gassing themselves to death. While the guy moved on and became Poet Laureate of England.

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Female or Woman?

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There’s a good chance that many of us men belittle women everyday—without even knowing it.

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Loneliness Is a Verb

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So here I am in Vieques, a widower living alone with my daughters in the States, facing a birthday by my lonesome this week.  

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Paradise Can Be Yours

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. . . by the week or month.

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