David Michael Bruno

People Matter - U2 Gets It

I know that by confessing that I like U2, I am pretty much admitting I've reached middle age. Yet, I do like their music. Even more so, I appreciate their focus. People. Rock bands often call people "fans." But you get the sense that U2 likes their people. It's one of the reasons that they have been so successful, I think. 'Cause whatever you do, it's about people. Real, live people.

Reality Strikes

I wanted to write a blog post tonight. Instead I did bills.

Filling Holes with Fresh Air

My oldest daughter has an amazing idea for a story. I will not give too much away, lest any plagiarists be lurking. Essentially it's about a garden where the plants communicate with each other by passing messages via animals carrying pollen between them. It's a really cool tale.

A couple days ago I asked her casually in passing if she'd worked on her story recently. She groaned, "No! But I really want to. It's just that there's no time."

She's got school. And homework. And horseback riding once a week. And Wednesday night church. And some minor house chores. And she likes to play. And she likes to read. Where's the time for writing stories?

Transition to my life. I too have been groaning of late that I have no time. I've got work. And a commute. And children. And a wife. And a dog to walk. And Wednesday night church. And house chores. And bills to write. And I like to play. And I like to read. Where's the time for writing stories?

And yet, there is time. I know it. Feel it. See it. I fill it up, with other stuff. Or perhaps the time gets filled up by other stuff. (I'm getting to my point here.) It's as if there are holes in my life. Holes that I can fill up with anything I want. I can put fresh soil in them and plant some seeds and cultivate the ground and watch something living grow until it's ready to be picked and eaten up. I can put water in them and add fish and plop down in a lawn chair and toss in scraps of bread. I can get a bunch of paper and a pencil and some water and a snack, especially some chocolate, and jump in for a few hours and write a story. I can do whatever I please with those holes.

Over the last couple weeks I have "not had time" to do much with the holes in my life. And you'd think that they'd just sit there empty, collecting falling leaves and snails. But they don't. They fill up. With kids staying up past their bedtimes. With unplanned weekend activities. With phone calls from family and friends. With worries that play like endless voicemails in my head. With dreams of buying a Land Rover Series III truck like I saw for sale on the side of the road a few blocks from work this morning.

I'd like to fill some holes with fresh air. Crisp, dewy-smelling fresh air. And climb into one of them. And take a nap.

A Lot of Average

A quick thought. If a lot of average people did lots of average things, it might produce spectacular results.

Spllenig fol olw up

My post about spelling created quite a stir, but I never weighed in on the subject, as Somebody pointed out. And so my awnesr is:

I beeilve taht sllpeilng ins t vrey iportmnet, wchih you porabbly dagsiree wtih buacese it behtors you taht tihs bolg et nry is pefretcly rdaeable. A nd dno't you drae s ay taht it is illgieble. I konw yu'oll be liyng.