We're getting that time of year: when yours truly heads out to the garage to tidy up. I'm really champing at the bit to get it done, but weather (among other factors) has kept me from my twice-yearly task recently. Here's an encore essay (originally posted in 2022) that sums up what this activity means to me. Enjoy, and I'll see you with some original prose (and maybe a clean garage) next week. Yesterday I cleaned the garage. It’s a twice-annual chore for me (spring and fall)

Do you know you’re wearing a pair of underwear for the last time when you put them on in the morning? Or does it take until the “next time” you take them out of the drawer, with their failing elastic and tears around the waistband to throw them out? What about a pair of socks? How many times after you’ve told yourself, “This is the last time I’m wearing them” do you actually follow through? Not to worry, I’m not going to share my personal undergarment stories. It was simply s

I wrote and shared this piece in 2020, after a senseless shooting. I've reposted it several times (including today) when history repeats itself in tragic fashion. I can't wait for the day when I don't feel obligated to put the following out to the world. I fear that day is still far off. ***** The song "Ohio" by Crosby, Stills, Nash and Young asks the question "How many more?" And that question is once again on our minds, as senseless, tragic incidents of hate and violence co