All men are brothers.
It’s 2009 and this is the blog of author Steven Zeeland. Yes, it has been two years since my final “Postcard from Zeeland.” Where was I? China? Nope. The two places I should have uploaded e-postcards from were my island on the border to Ontario, CA, and an island near Pensacola, FL. The one place I most certainly […]
Twenty years ago the above photo was taken. Twenty years ago I began taping interviews with military men. Twenty years ago my oldest nephew was conceived; now he has a son! Traditionally, 20 years = the span of a generation — genealogically speaking. This summer I’ve researched my family tree. Passionately, even obsessively. As if […]
It’s never too late to come clean: When I was a boy of nine, in 1969, I wanted to be an astronaut. Teachers and family were heartened by this unexpected indication of “normality.” I was granted special permission to sit in with the sixth grade class to watch historic TV broadcasts. Only . . . […]
Hi – It’s taken far too long, I know. But: this past November US voters signalled “thumbs down” to George Orwell’s perpetual war. . . . Maybe these three (anonymous, internet-circulated) sleeping Marines will live long enough to vote in the next election? That would be my prayer. (Interesting, that these 21st century American men […]
“Instructor gives conditioning exercises to aviation cadets at pre-flight school, Iowa City, Iowa.” September 1942; Iowa City, Iowa; photograph unattributed; 80-G-473132 Hi – Earlier this year BLUE magazine of Australia commissioned me to review a newly published book of old photos titled AT EASE. AT EASE sold extraordinarily well to men who (like me) derive […]
Hi – It’s a new year. I’m glad. So glad, in fact, that whenever I find myself writing out 2 0 0 4 — even on a utility bill — I feel a twinge of something resembling pleasure. Or at least relief: ’03 is over. With this postcard I want to wallow in a rare […]
Hi. I am still alive. And — despite my newly diagnosed chronic lung disease — I am fully intent on living at least as long as the younger of my two cats (aged three). Somewhere in one of my letters to Mark (born on the Fourth of July — Happy Birthday Mr) Simpson, which ended […]