It’s a big one this month, and it’s personal. This one is titled “Origin” and you might be able to guess what it’s about. I spent the past few years reconnecting with my Dad, who’ve I’ve not seen since I was 11. Three decades is a long time to go with silence trapped between anyone. As a kid I always felt anger toward my father for never being there, and for not trying to reach out over the years. What I learned about forgiveness is that the people who deserve it most are usually the same people who feel they don’t deserve it at all. I spent a long time carrying around that anger… I was so wrapped up in my own hurt that I forgot about the pain he must have carried all this way. In discovering my own origin I was able to ask him about his, and there was so much I didn’t know because it was more convenient for me to hold onto those hurt feelings. I think when we’re hurt our tendency is to nurture the wound… it helps to justify our feelings about it… it gives us permission to hate. My Dad answered my questions with honesty and courage; I’m only sorry I waited so long to ask them. The title of the book (The Basement In My Attic) comes from a line in this poem (Origin) that I had to edit out. I wasn’t happy with how it fit into the piece, but thought it was a fitting title for a collection of feelings. Both the ones that somehow became antiques I’ve had trouble letting go of, and the ones that became treasures I found anew after wiping away the dust.