Trying to Find Their Way Home
Pull up a chair. This one is being written by your old uncle, the one you rarely speak to, and that may be too bad because you might have missed something. He is a little strange, sure. Around here, we call him Disco Grandpa. He has been known to chair…
Finding Your Way Home
Give me a partially washed-out dirt road with gravel on the side. Not a perfect road. Not a smooth road, or one of those polished streets with painted lines and lights telling everybody exactly when to stop and go. Give me the old dirt road. The one with…
The Tool Is Not The Boss
I have talked to a hammer before, and usually after I smashed a thumb. I have said a few unkind words to a socket wrench too, especially after dropping a starter on my face. That wrench did not warn me. It did not apologize. It did not offer comfort,…
When The Pond Woke Up
When I was a boy, there were places that looked empty most of the year. Dry ponds. Cracked dirt. Low spots in the field that held nothing but dust, weeds, and the memory of water. You could walk past them and think there was nothing there worth noticing.…
Just Another Day
If it can be messed up, I will manage to do it. I do not say that as a complaint. At this point in life, it is almost a skill set. Some people have hobbies, whereas I have field experience in things going sideways. This morning started early. Not noble…
Trying To Find Their Way Home
Pull up a chair. This one is being written by your old uncle, the one you rarely speak to, and that may be too bad because you might have missed something. He is a little strange, sure. Around here we call him Disco Grandpa. He has been known to chair…