The world’s obsession with balls and playing with them doesn’t work for those who would rather not, JP Devine writes.
J.P. Devine
Our home, like the mall after Christmas, is empty, but our hearts are still full
When children grow up and move away, the end of the holidays brings an emptiness, but love is always still there, JP Devine writes.
Hold tight to your snow globes, and your dreams
Once the snow globe breaks, the beautiful illusion is lost, JP Devine writes.
Let’s lift a glass to the saloon Santas
Santa comes in many forms and is found in many places, but none touch JP Devine like the bar and tavern Santas of his youth.
The snow will come, as will the hero’s battle
Winter will come, and the fight with the Great White Bull will not break her hero’s heart, JP Devine writes.
So, you want to write a book?
It’s easy, J.P. Devine writes; just drop all of your responsibilities, write the book, find a publisher and prepare to hawk it by yourself out of your car trunk.
The soul of the Christmas tree is in the beholder
JP Devine trades in his old model for his soul-mate tree and finds his animism kicking in.
Let’s not forget that we all once were immigrants
The Irish, Italians, Jews, Germans, Chinese and so many more made this country what it is, so let’s welcome the Syrians, JP Devine writes.
It’s tough to channel your inner Thoreau in Starbucks’ parking lot
When a Waterville coffee shop shuts down for a week for renovations, JP Devine can observe all sorts of ‘wildlife’ as he sips Dunkin’ and writes in his Prius.
A world without bacon is hard to imagine
J.P. Devine ponders his favorite cuts amid news that ‘meat is bad for us.’