my feet were wincing last night i slathered on the white petroleum jelly i found in mister's basement, real old stuff, 4 oz, 39 cents, a soothing dressing, and by dog it seems to be working.
i wrote jon katz moved by his ghost-father blog. he was a flesh ghost like mine, and his old man hurt bad and mine was more benign perhaps but corrosive and angry and inscrutable no less.  

 

jon,

thanks for your father post. i struggle with my dead father, and periodically he pops up in the blog like an invited spectre. good on ya for telling your story. more's the better.

i've realized my father is the imprint of all the manipulative and capricious and exploitive authoritarian figures that plague the earth.

best,

doug

 

i was worried about my five walks today, it's cold as a witches titty, as gramps might have said out of grannie's ear-shot, but my feets feel like maybe they won't fail me if i pause and slather them with jelly in between and paws to blog, and hug my every dog.