Such an innocuous phrase. I use it all the time.

“Do you need help with that?”
“No, no. I’m fine.”

It’s how I was raised. Asking for help, according to my father, was being dependent. Accepting help, according to my mother, was taking advantage of other people’s good nature. As a result, I don’t need help with anything. I can do it all myself. And if I can’t, I'll find a work around or I decide it doesn’t really need doing. Anything but admit,

“Yeah. I could use a little help here.” Read more about I'm Fine

[Being the last character sketch left to me by my friend Bill. A Blue Moon story.]

“Oil containing garlic can cause botulism if not kept refrigerated.”

"How the hell does he know this stuff?" [we asked] Dan Brown: creator of Uncle Buck, who lived and reigned for three months, then vanished. Buck knew all, but lied when drunk. It was hard to use him as a source. Dan relied on his testimony. Read more about Uncle Buck

Searching for a goddess in the land of the gods Read more about The Road to Ephesus, Part I

I remember someone asking him if people ever called him "Bob." He said, "No." Short and to the point. I used to own at least 20 Robert E. Lee candles. The best advice he ever gave me was pointing out that the man I was dating wasn't the right man for me. "How do you know?" I asked. "I've seen you dance," he said, with a twinkle in his eye.

Another piece from my old friend, the late Bill Heintzelman. Read more about Robert E Lee

From the point of view of my old friend, Bill, who was definitely not a Deadhead, but the dearest of friends anyway. He wonders why we all came and stayed until closing on a Sunday night. I could have told him. We called it "Church." Read more about Dead Night at the Moon

I recently joined a conversation in The New York Times about driving, the hazards thereof, and the forgiveness of sins. So to speak.

This response of mine was published: Read more about Driving Them Cars

I have my own Maggie stories, but they will have to wait. For now, I have one of the my friend Bill's. Maggie was who every bartender wanted to be when she grew up. Sheelah told me she was taking bitch lessons from her.
Here's Bill:
Bat Bitch, she always wears black. Maggie Colie's the bartender, and she's saving up for motorcycle leathers. The sign on the tip jar reads "MAGGIE'S LEATHER FUND ...TODAY'S MY BIRTHDAY." Read more about Maggie

In the spring of 1970, Steven Jerrick and I moved to Camano Island, WA. It is a time that remains somewhat out of time. Even the house has burned down. It's as if we were never even there. But I wrote most of it down. And here we are: Read more about Springtime on Camano

Friday September 21, 1979

The first day of fall and we are falling fast. Steven cannot find work and he is obsessed with failure. We expected a check from Green Bay today that has not arrived. We are down to about $4.00, but we have been that low before. Traveler’s Aid is our last hope tonight to cash a check for the weekend. Read more about Almost Down and Out in Seattle

The trip out was an odyssey of remembering and experiencing. We crossed by the same route that Steve and I took on the bike six years ago. I didn’t do it out of nostalgia. It is the best route across that section of country that I know. The Badlands, the Black Hills, Yellowstone. Chris had never been through there, so it was great to top a rise and point out the next mountain range – each one getting bigger, taller, wilder, with more promise of a vast remoteness. Mountain Magic. Home of storms. Places where the wild things live. Visible but beyond reach. Read more about Westward Ho 1985