Two Weeks on Wineham Lane . . .
Which is a mid-sized rural road linking Cowfold Road/A272 and the Henfield/Wheatsheaf Road in West Sussex. And West Sussex is, as you likely know, a British county (once a shire) in between London and Brighton….
Within Earshot . . .
June 1968. Newly signed on as a summer ranger at Gettysburg – 11 guys and me, we appeared in our brand-new Hart Schaffner and Marx green gabardine uniforms. Veteran ranger and summer supervisor Nick and…
Things I Don’t Understand . . .
It’s a long list. And begins with–well, I don’t even have a name for it. Not just technology. Not just a cloud. Not electrical currents. “IT” delivers all the information and pictures and video and…
Coming to Terms . . .
With life running out. My own. And so many others. Bob, Tony Incashola, Ian Tyson, Chuck Johnson, Kay Flinn, Connie Waterman. Before that Ivan and Kay Rosengren and Dick Ensminger and Gene over in Harlowton…
Views: From Here To . . . .
This afternoon, I’m looking out to the east, watching the Big Belts. The 75 mile-long Rocky Mountain island chain stretches in an arc—a belt. Not quite 10,000 feet at its highest point. The Missouri River…
Finding My . . . .
High school debate reordered my life. Upended the way I looked at the world. Challenged my perceptions. But what was it that I found or discarded? What was the epiphany? Mostly I haven’t spent the…
So the Question of How to Age . . .
Begins with assuming: No special privileges No certainty of infirmity No guaranteed treatment Neither limits nor the absence of limits. And believing: Only that every day is the only day Only that every day, every…
When I Grow Too Old to Dream
When I Grow Too Old to Dream We have been gay, going our wayLife has been beautiful, we have been youngAfter you’ve gone, life will go onLike an old song we have sung When I…
Hibernation
That’s where the words have gone. Some special “extended state of torpor.” Some deep drop in the metabolism of language and memory. Shocked into an energy-saving indolence. A lethargy designed to evade these dark days….
Want Ads
We used to call them that—the classifieds that filled the final pages of our local newspapers. And we really meant everything advertised for sale in small boxes, divided into categories that included jobs available, pets…