Browse Category: Private Journal Writing

Cherry Tree

April 22, 1996 – Three years later, in that same month, we were divorced. The cherry tree was the only one to survive undamaged.


As of September 2013, the tree still stood in the backyard of this house.

Image from Google Maps, September 2013


From my private journal:

December 26, 1992

My five year-old son (Timothy) told me that he wants to be a missionary/doctor/clown.

A missionary because they tell people about Jesus.

A doctor because they help to make sick people better.

A clown because they make people happy.

Don’t Grab the Honey. You’ll be Sorry if You Do.

A dream in which I got a migraine and was a nasty guy
A dream in which I got a migraine and was a nasty guy

While preparing images for another gallery of migraine drawings, I came upon one that was inspired by a dream in which I got a migraine. When I woke up, I actually had a migraine going on. (It’s bizarre to open my eyes in the morning and find a migraine aura going on. That always freaks me out a bit when it happens.) As all but a few of my migraine drawings are contained in my journals, I was happy to find the story of the dream along with this drawing. The dream features my grandson, Jordyn, who was 10 at the time. I feel bad about being so mean to him in this dream! Read below. You’ll see what I mean.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

I woke up with a migraine today. Here’s the story:

I woke at 6 AM when the alarm went off. I reset it for 7:00 and went back to sleep.

then I had a dream that I was in a grocery store with Jordyn. We needed to find something to make for dinner. While in the store, I started to have a migraine aura. I said to Jordyn, “We gotta hurry up, buddy. I’m getting one of my headaches.” Jordyn went off and I was walking around by myself. I was trying to find Jordyn, went down a few steps and noticed the right side of my vision was mostly gone.

I finally found Jordyn leaning over something. I said, “What are you doing?” He was startled and stood up. He had a bottle of honey in his hands. He was squeezing the honey into a barrely of water that had ham steaks in it. I yelled at him, “What are you doing! We have to get out of here! My head hurts!” I slapped him on the back and grabbed the honey.

Then my hands were all sticky! I was so angry! I put the honey on a shelf. Then I thought about how to get the honey off my hands. I looked around to make sure no one was looking. Then I rinsed my hands off in the barrel with the ham! Ha! Then I said, “Let’s get outta here!”

The alarm went off at 7… and I had an aura going on. It was on the right side of my vision, which is unusual. I usually have it on the left side.


There’s nothing worse than a migraine AND sticky hands! But I guess that’s what I get for being nasty to my own flesh and blood.

(This story is also posted on HERE.)

A Rare and Brief Look Into My Private Journal

(Originally posted on the website Heron Flight)

Thursday, October 16, 2008
1:06 PM

I’m at the park. Listening to Prince’s “Purple Rain” album.

When I pulled in, there was a woman in a green Honda feeding a baby. Not with the breast. With a bottle on her lap.

Then an Elgin Whirlwind street sweeper largely hummed through the parking lot and dumped a pile of gravel. Not on its own. There was a man driving it.

I wish I didn’t have to go back to the office right away. I’d rather stay here and observe who else comes to the park. Maybe a troop of belly dancers in rubber boots. Or a communist tank from Cuba.

Or a dog.

Or a group of belly dancing communist dogs on a Cuban tank. A rubber one.

  • 1
  • 2