Mike the Mutterer


Writing at Sophia’s on this lovely fall morning. Missing my wife and wishing I’d been a better husband. Trying to focus on the present and hoping what I do will make a difference.

Encouraging email from an Australian parent whose reluctant-reader son loves Matterhorn. This within minutes of being reminded some local kids didn’t think much of the books.

Musing on life and my role in it, as usual. In Middle English, “musen” meant: to mutter, to gaze meditatively on, to be astonished. That’s me. Mike the Mutterer, tapping away under the green awning by the front door.

Going to see Scotty later, still at home waiting to die of cancer. We’re all waiting to die of something. Then our musings will give way to stark raving astonishment.

In the mean time … mutter … mutter … mutter …

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2 thoughts on “Mike the Mutterer

  1. As a pro mutterer and one who muses I understand your seeking meaning and purpose. We all want to leave lasting footprints on the earth. Few of us will cause the flags to fly at half staff, fewer still will lye in state or have coins cast with our likeness. I’m always struck by how the world tumbles on in the face of brutal loss, how families endure beyond unfathomable loss.

    How do some folks do it while others crumble ? It’s not all a connection to faith, community, or medicine. All of those elements help, but survival and thriving is rooted in sheer determination. Blunt but subtle, harsh and yet sublime we have seeds of hope that the moments of life left to be had will include some breathtaking adventures, some heart pounding love, and some opportunities to engrave our names on the world.

    Good luck in your musings and mutterings. Just know I look toward to seeing what you are thinking.

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