Milton Brasher-Cunningham

music to start the summer

One of my favorites: "They say that these are not the best of times, but they're the only times I've ever known . . ." Peace, Milton

old friends

Ginger and I have spent today unpacking. Yes, I know we’ve been in Durham for a year and a half, and in our house for over a year. But we’ve had a stack of boxes sitting in the shed in the back yard all that time waiting for

question

If you were speaking in parables this afternoon, would you still talk about seeds and birds and trees? You see, what we know of farming are supermarket shelves of Costa Rican bananas and Peruvian asparagus; a flower box of basil in the yard, summer trips to the farmer’s market.

thanks for the music

I was checking up on a few things before heading for bed when I saw that Kenny Rankin, a singer-songwriter and awesome guitarist whom I have followed over the years, died earlier in the week from lung cancer. Here then, in the closing minutes of the day, I offer

nicodemus

When he first heard the words, he was the first to hear them: “You must be born again.” He was old and the metaphor muddled his mind: go back into my mother’s womb-- at this age? Jesus, however, was not about to forsake his role as midwife. There in

finding words

There are days I go out looking for words and, then, there are days that words come out looking for me, or at least stand hitchhiking by the road I’m on such that I can’t help but stop and pick them up. Today was a hitchhiking day. On

shameless commerce

Last year I published a book through Lulu.com called Seven Summers at the Beach that included poetry and recipes from this blog as a way of saying goodbye and thank you for our years in Massachusetts. Lulu was hard to find and the shipping charges were outlandish. This week,

seasons

we mark our seasons with changes new menus for lunch and dinner it’s the way we say goodbye to strawberries and hello to the tomatoes, who show up only for summer the blueberries are coming in and both sweet corn and sweet onions; this is the season of vegetables,

at my window

Steve Earle has a new record of Townes Van Zandt covers, one of the more complicated artists and people on the current scene paying tribute to his even more complicated mentor. Between what I have been reading and listening to this evening there is much to unpack, and I’m

run and catch the wind

On this Pentecost morning, I woke up thinking about this commercial. Yes, that's right: this commercial. May the day be full of discovery and disquietude. Peace, Milton P.S. -- There's a new recipe.

waking up

I’m about a week and a half into the resurrection of the ritual of writing my Morning Pages and I’m already feeling a shift. I’m getting used to getting up and, other than making the coffee, letting those three handwritten pages be the first thing I do.

linguistics

It’s not so much what I say but what you hear – I can pick through my words like fruit, choosing what’s ripe and ready – I can order them meticulously, like mosaic tiles turning tiny chips of meaning into a shining image – I can pack them like pipe bombs,