WRITING

summer

Summer is here.  At 5, 6 and 8 we got rascals riding bikes and swimming at a skill level whereby we are not in constant stress.  I told Ginny sometime some summer not long ago that I was done going to pools.  With 3 that cannot swim alone, I can only act like I’m listening to whatever adult is talking to me, my head drawing a repeated triangle from locating the 3 bobbing heads while I simultaneously feign my best impression of the laid back dad & try not to tell this person what an idiot they are for trying…

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weekends with rascals

I’ve worked hard to develop a new habit of carving out Monday mornings to sit and think and pray and grasp for some semblance of sanity before I cannonball into the week that will eat my lunch if I let it.  It’s a rebellious act of counter-intuition as weekends are supposed to be the very thing that serves us this way.  Now, I love my weekends at home and all- but it’s not a peaceful-cup-of-coffee-type of experience currently. If I had to measure, I would say it packs about the same rest as being chased by a pack of wolves….

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The Surface Dialogue Guidebook

We’ve reached that point in these beloved Ozarks where we’re just all waiting around for the good weather.  We get all four seasons here; just enough of winter to know we don’t want to move north; which we needed no help knowin’.  Being bone-tired of Ole Man Winter being a hanger-on is all you’re allowed to talk about- other than the razorback basketball revival- in these parts; whether it be the gal sacking your groceries or the college hipster handing you $4 coffee, so goes the surface dialogue guidebook.  It’s unwritten but just as real as the holy book itself…

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shifting gears

I often look at my backside in the mirror. I move quickly past the place that you imagined I was seeking and find the splotchy spot just above the bend of my right leg.  It’s my biggest scar- remnants of days I spent riding my Honda 80 dirt bike for hours on end along the hill behind my house where within a 3-minute ride Arkansas turned into Oklahoma. Often times I would lug the unstarted motorcycle to the top of a certain steep drop off in order to mount the red machine, point it downhill and coast until max speed;…

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striving for a secret

Check it out, Ginny & Lena are in the current edition of National Geographic.  A while back, a wonderful photographer followed our family around for a few days in order to capture photos illustrative of an article on brain development…fascinating article and wonderful pictures (we think).               _____________________________________ If you have been around me much, it does not take long to learn of certain things that come along as a part of the package- tethered to the molecules that combine to make me: At 37, I am still unable to grow any semblance of…

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from Fergie to Ferguson

Against my better judgment, Ginny convinced me last Monday to sit beside her and watch the American Music Awards.  I begrudgingly complied- mainly due to the fact that I love her and if she invites me to sit close to her, I do it- every time.  I’m a sucker that way, but that doesn’t mean I don’t moan on and on about the drivel that she makes me watch. Ginny admittedly loves television.  She loves awards shows.  Loves reality tv.  She once made me watch the Bachelor; she seemed happy.  I put my foot down and told her I would…

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a plea for nuance

                      My post-election social media feeds are half-filled with exclamatory proclamations of a country now headed to greater grandeur than it has known, while another half of the updates, statuses and links swear impending doom for women, children and wage earners. We are a bit prone to say things such as, “these are the most divided times” and such- and I am sure there are even numbers out there to back this up.  But I have studied just enough history to know about the civil war and civil rights and…

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for the day the calendar says it's been 8 years.

Today, I will go to the same restaurant, being sure to walk the same route- as best I can remember. And that’s just it, I hate myself for forgetting something about that day- but I can’t recall, what I can’t recall. about the day that changed it all. I tell myself to let it go, but that only serves to swell the guilt. I can picture well his almond eyes. But I’m not sure if that is from the pictures or actually stolen from those cherished moments I beheld them. There is no way to love those gone in a…

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Crawl. Walk. Run.

It’s been 4 weeks since I have written.  Or bathed. It’s been 4 weeks since Ginny’s back surgery. Thanks to all who have served us so well.  Meals have been made, laundry folded.  Sure, it’s a bit of a downer when you realize that a friend of the opposite gender folded your tightey-whiteys.  I haves opted to frame this panicked moment of comprehension as the moment our friendship grew larger (you know who you are & there are more than one of you I am afraid).  I am also suddenly motivated to going shopping for new underwear. Oh and I…

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Almost. Not yet.

Sometimes I write for you. Sometimes I write for me. This is most likely the latter. It’s been quite a season in the Land ‘O Mooneys.  Many of you know that while on our trip to Michigan, Ginny re-injured her back.  And so her vacation headed more toward Purgatory than Petoskey.  [That ole trick that we first learned two years back whereby the disc decides to come out of place and push on the nerve and Ginny winces and leans over and keeps mommy-ing even though she is in a lot of pain and on a lot of meds.]  Last…

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summer

By Matt Mooney | June 12, 2015

Summer is here.  At 5, 6 and 8 we got rascals riding bikes and swimming at a skill level whereby we are not in constant stress.  I told Ginny sometime some summer not long ago that I was done going to pools.  With 3 that cannot swim alone, I can only act like I’m listening…

weekends with rascals

By Matt Mooney | April 20, 2015

I’ve worked hard to develop a new habit of carving out Monday mornings to sit and think and pray and grasp for some semblance of sanity before I cannonball into the week that will eat my lunch if I let it.  It’s a rebellious act of counter-intuition as weekends are supposed to be the very…

The Surface Dialogue Guidebook

By Matt Mooney | March 13, 2015

We’ve reached that point in these beloved Ozarks where we’re just all waiting around for the good weather.  We get all four seasons here; just enough of winter to know we don’t want to move north; which we needed no help knowin’.  Being bone-tired of Ole Man Winter being a hanger-on is all you’re allowed…

shifting gears

By Matt Mooney | February 5, 2015

I often look at my backside in the mirror. I move quickly past the place that you imagined I was seeking and find the splotchy spot just above the bend of my right leg.  It’s my biggest scar- remnants of days I spent riding my Honda 80 dirt bike for hours on end along the…

striving for a secret

By Matt Mooney | January 7, 2015

Check it out, Ginny & Lena are in the current edition of National Geographic.  A while back, a wonderful photographer followed our family around for a few days in order to capture photos illustrative of an article on brain development…fascinating article and wonderful pictures (we think).               _____________________________________ If…

from Fergie to Ferguson

By Matt Mooney | December 2, 2014

Against my better judgment, Ginny convinced me last Monday to sit beside her and watch the American Music Awards.  I begrudgingly complied- mainly due to the fact that I love her and if she invites me to sit close to her, I do it- every time.  I’m a sucker that way, but that doesn’t mean…

a plea for nuance

By Matt Mooney | November 6, 2014

                      My post-election social media feeds are half-filled with exclamatory proclamations of a country now headed to greater grandeur than it has known, while another half of the updates, statuses and links swear impending doom for women, children and wage earners. We are a bit…

for the day the calendar says it's been 8 years.

By Matt Mooney | October 27, 2014

Today, I will go to the same restaurant, being sure to walk the same route- as best I can remember. And that’s just it, I hate myself for forgetting something about that day- but I can’t recall, what I can’t recall. about the day that changed it all. I tell myself to let it go,…

Crawl. Walk. Run.

By Matt Mooney | October 20, 2014

It’s been 4 weeks since I have written.  Or bathed. It’s been 4 weeks since Ginny’s back surgery. Thanks to all who have served us so well.  Meals have been made, laundry folded.  Sure, it’s a bit of a downer when you realize that a friend of the opposite gender folded your tightey-whiteys.  I haves…

Almost. Not yet.

By Matt Mooney | September 11, 2014

Sometimes I write for you. Sometimes I write for me. This is most likely the latter. It’s been quite a season in the Land ‘O Mooneys.  Many of you know that while on our trip to Michigan, Ginny re-injured her back.  And so her vacation headed more toward Purgatory than Petoskey.  [That ole trick that…