Just Figure It Out

When I was small enough to have to raise my arm to hold my father’s hand, we would walk around the block in the evenings while he smoked a cigar.  Half way round, he’d stop, take the cigar out of his mouth, slide off the ring and hand it to me.  I’d slip it carefully…

The Underground

Every now and then I hear it; a low, muted whistle; faint from under the floor boards.  Then, the sound of the hard working shifter, pushing and pulling rolling stock into place behind the locomotive, pulsing impatient steam as it waits to release the brake and hurl itself into the sunrise.  I open the door…

Don’t Throw That Out; I Might Need It

Every now and then I stumble across an episode of “Hoarders: Buried Alive,” and I’m glued—and terrified. Each episode features someone with “hoarding disorder” living in a garbage dump stored inside a house.  It’s simultaneously revolting and fascinating, especially because you and I don’t live that way.  But could we?  Hoarders don’t want to be hoarders…