My grandfather, Daddy John, served in the Sea Bees during WWII, survived polio, lived alone in a small three bedroom house for most of his adult life, and spouted one-liners for almost every situation. My favorite was “save the pieces!” Whenever something broke, a not uncommon occurrence during our visits with him, Daddy John would shout out from whatever room he was in, including the toilet, “save the pieces!” I don’t know if he really meant it, a real possibility as he was a depression era survivor, or if he was being playful. Either way, it has stuck with me, and I find it an apt metaphor for most of life.

Melissa and I have been married now for thirty years, an accomplishment I am quietly (except for now) proud of mostly because those thirty years have been an almost constant exercise of saving broken pieces, glueing them back together, and starting the process all over again when the precariously glued-up life is once again shattered by a new job, or a new baby, or a sick loved one, or the suicide of a young student, or a decades-old feud, the origins of which neither of us remember. We launch this blog as we head out on a six month sabbatical. Despite our planning, despite our excitement, despite an overwhelming desire to absent ourselves from the toxic culture of America, things will break. And we will, as Daddy John commands, save the pieces, rearranging them here in the hopes that you will add your saved pieces to the unfolding mosaic.