Author: Michael James Caughill

And she should have just named it Directors: Use This As The Soundtrack For Your Next Romantic Comedy Set At Christmas.

On our drive to work this morning, I told Melinda I think of her as my trophy wife.

She said, “No, I’m not. At most, I’m your participation trophy wife.”

The new working title is A Wheelchair in Winter.

If I’m lucky, it will be done before this winter.

if I’m very lucky, it will be done before I’m in a wheelchair.

When our son Charlie discovered this picture of Melinda Caughill from when we were dating, he was completely freaked out that no one had ever told him his mother had been a part-time model.

And in case you don’t know about part-time models:

I lost my mom a little more than a year ago.

Yesterday, I went to a funeral for my next door neighbor. He was a fantastic guy. Raced Porsches in his spare time. ALS took him way too young.

Late last year, the man I started my ad agency with died. He wasn’t even 50 yet.

Two years ago, my first boss in Wisconsin died of brain cancer in his young 60s.

At least five times a day, I am reminded of one of those people.

When you’re young, the world feels like it’s been there forever and will be there forever.

But, now, I’ve reached the age, where nearly everything I do, or see, reminds me of someone who is gone.

Pictures of my mother on the bookshelf.

The ramp leading to the house next door up which my neighbor would drive the electric wheelchair he had traded for his Porsche.

The old business card my partner designed laying among the clutter on my desk.

Everywhere I look there are ghosts.

…that just spells out, “I hate tattoos.”

At this point, I think I’ve watched Hamilton 1,776 times.

A group getting millions in state tax money is leading Madison’s protests and calling for defunding of police departments