The sea loved the land, and the land loved the sea. A beautiful tragedy, which is why we all love the beach. It is where we can watch the almost of those two beautiful creatures.

8am

Good MORNING, SUNSHINE!

Have I told you that's my favorite greeting? There's a few. But that one's great!

Note: not enough sleep.

4 images to finissh in teh next three hours. So no time to appreciate spider webs, bathing birds or other little details I've seen a million times but somehow are brand new every one.

Garden grows well, I can see that from my window. I need to clean these windows. But I'll have tot rim this rose bush first.

It never ends. I also need to fix the eave on the porch.

Thursday! Howd i get here so quickly.

Okay. a little groggy. eyes are a little crispy, but lets get to work. Gotta make a pink dinosaur match. :-D

Brush, floss, read, pray.

There's a T'shirt for that! I'll remember this in 3 hours when I run out of time.

Priorities, man! What is WRONG with you!!!!!!

13:30

Making good progress on my project. Clients say, 'they look good'. Which is nervous. That means they aren' t looking-looking at them.

17:00

holy moly this project is brutal! Retouch retouch retouch. too pinnk, not pink enought. Smooth, add noise. WOW!

19:00

My brain is melting. CLient is only now sendign feedback to Tuesday's submissions. The problem: have done two rounds since then. PLUS they gave me wrong source, so i get to do a couple of them again. :–)

I am not feeling whimsical. I am tired. :–/ Need a nap.

Need dinner.

Starving.

22:00 Buger was lame. Miss my partner. Her meals always make the house smell amaaaazing!

Spent an hour on the phone. That was fun. We never just talk on the phone like kids anymore. Mostly because we're rarely more than 50' from each other. She stopped working in 2020, and work from a home studio. We worship together, eat together, read together... together together together.

Maybe it'll be good to spend a few days apart. Absence making the heart fonder and all.

We're both exhausted though. I could hear it in her voice. She's of an age where sitting and paying attention for 8 hours takes more energy than she's got. Then again, maybe she isn't sleeping enough. I'm sure not.

I'm learning my project is going to stretch out through the end of next week. Great! Getting closer to buying back all that borrowed cash for Europe.

Then we can do it alllll again! Hahaha! JK, I think our next big adventure will be driving around the United states in our swanky DIY camper van. We have friends in TX, FL, NC, VA, MD, NY, ME, IL, OH, WI, MT, ID, WA, CA, NV and NM that we need to see. hahahah. I DOUBT we'll make it that kind of trip.

a while back i started putting destination stickers on magnetic sheets and cutting them out. it' wonderful, I slap those on anything metal. We have a metal sign on teh wall of the van where I put them. It's better than sticking them, if we remodel or sell van, we can always keep our little tokens of travel.

She's a sweet woman. I hope she's game for six weeks on the road. I am. Beach, mountains, beer and friends. I'm really looking forward to seeing Winslow Homer's studio in Maine. And seeing covered bridges again. IDK why they're so romantic... but fall leaves and a covered bridge are like catnip.

Okay enough goofing off, Keeper. Get to work.

You may have noticed, i'm working on a rebrand. I've been writing with intent for about 10 years, seriously for the last 5. I am thinking a great deal about what I like to write and why: the details everyone else takes for granted, or ignores.

The old man at the airport. The way the light peaks through the window and makes dust motes glow. The distant rumble of a train deep in the middle of the night. How toast, when it's done right, feels the way it sounds. A sparkling laugh.

Because that's where miracles exist. Not the spectacular or the lavish.

The small, the unimportant.

It's born out of a love of the Creator. no matter how big or how small He made a thing it has purpose and it has beauty.

What better things could there be to observe, record and upon which to build stories?

Ten years ago I stood at Portland Head in Cape Elizabeth on a freezing morning with no one else around.

It was the sort of morning that convinces most people to stay home by the fire and let the Atlantic rage unwitnessed.

So, I found myself bleary-eyed and goose-fleshed, and marveling at the absolute power on display. Watching the break against the stone was like watching a blacksmith smashing his hammer against the anvil in the act of creation.

And I'll never forget it.

I have a friend who collects people, a skill I enjoy practicing as well, but my real passion is collecting moments. And the Head was a moment collected and stored in my mind and in my books. Maybe one day someone will leaf through these pages and see the world a little differently. Come to know the world the way I do. Maybe not.

I won't love it any less in any regard.

I've written many times about the power of water and the indelibility of stone. How two such disparate things seem inextricably connected. The water breaking constantly and never failing, while the stone seems indelible but is just as fluid as the water. Just on a much, much longer timeline.

This slice of existence so many missed is the point. I am fascinated by it. And by extension, the myth of the lighthouse and what it represents:

Patient watchfulness. Putting the needs of the greater good first. Unshakeable sturdiness in the face of tremendous power. A watchful eye that focuses its beam not so much to see inasmuch as for others to see it.

And not everyone cares about the lighthouse. But for those who do, it is an incredible feature. One they seek any time they are at sea and the weather begins to seethe and boil.

I like the idea of a lighthouse keeper. A lone figure, maybe with a single parter, in the odd structure, filled with books and puzzle and pens and paper. Whiling the days away between trips up the long spiral staircase with whimsy and story. Music that one can play as loudly as they like and the neither the seagulls nor the surf would ever complain.

Perhaps, this old writer will one day find himself in a real lighthouse an the romance of the idea will be quenched with reality as cold as the Atlantic waters that pounded the Head.

For the time being, I'll suffice to call myself a keeper and we'll call this blog the lantern room. High above the turmoil of life, quiet and safe from the roil and boil. Maybe you listen to music while you read my words. It's possible they give you some comfort, or insight. Or maybe you just need something to take your mind off of the hoy paloy of the day to day.

Whatever the case, you, dear reader, are always welcome here at the top of my staircase. Stay as long as you like, read all my books and, given the chance, I'll brew. you a nice cup of warm tea and you can tell me about your hopes, your dreams and the grand adventure that is your own life.

WELCOME TO THE LANTERN ROOM, I am your Keeper.

0100am CST

I think that's just about enough goofing off for one day, don't you? Tomorrow will bring a new dawn and more client work. I had planned to call it an early night, but no one loves words as much as a writer does.

Until we next meet, oh lover of words, I bid you a good night.

The Keeper's Blessing:

May your seas be wide enough for wonder, your harbor always waiting, and your light never fail when another soul is searching.

#deardiary #thelanternkeeper #about

2026-08-06 00:00:00

Afterward

Is it better to be the missed, or the missed?

We are usually both.

Is it better to be missed, or to be the one who misses?

To live in another’s silence, or carry theirs inside your own?

The truth is, we are usually both—

a ghost in someone else’s room, and a room still haunted.