My first grandson, John Michael Oskey was born 3/30/16.

That same week I lost a dear friend, Jo Doran, poet and Professor at NMU and Michigan writer Jim Harrison.  Coincidentally, I was reading Jim on the day before and the day of his death.

J.M. and Me

Two Hearted

My mother hated water, she said.

The leaks in the roof, the water seeping into the basement where she was nearly electrocuted once as, one foot in the water, she reached a hand out to the washing machine and found herself stuck there with current going up and down one side of her body, lucky she was, they said — since it would have been the end of her — to throw herself backward without reaching out that other hand to pry herself off.

She hated the leaks under the sink.  That dripping.

She wasn’t fond of storms and she was terrified of Grand Traverse Bay, she having never learned to swim.

She got seasick standing on the dock.

She loved good dry land and the sun.

My father whose grandfather was a steamboat captain, loved water, all forms.

I love rivers, how they seem to beckon, the hidden recesses of them that seem to match those in your mind.  I love their mystery, their movement, the deadfall, the holes you must shuffle to avoid.

I love how they change.

I love rivers.




Short and Sweet

Just a note:  We are in the process of combining lekimball.com into this wordpress site which should happen in the next week or two.  We’re excited about the changes.

I apologize for not blogging.  I spent much of the winter in Florida caring for my father who has Parkinson’s and some heart issues as well.  But he’s doing much better and spring brings optimism.  And my first grandchild, John Michael Oskey was born March 30th, and I loved being part of that experience.

My latest book Seasonal Roads was just released by Wayne State Press and I am finalizing my event schedule.  Some of it is already posted and much will be forthcoming shortly.

We are back at camp–Josh and Maggie and me– on the Little Two Hearted.  The river is up, grouse are hanging in close to the woodpile and coyotes howl in so close it raises the hair on my head–all life in the U.P. of Michigan.

All is right with the world.  I hope all is right with yours–