On Death and Dying
Thoughts from an Eight Dollar Chair I sit in an eight dollar plastic chair on a balmy, late spring day, and I begin thinking about death. I notice that I don’t find the thought particularly sad or dreadful: I just… Read more >
The Houdini Years
I must reveal that I was once the “master of escape.” The chicken wire pen that enclosed a shaded section of our small backyard proved no obstacle to my frequent quests for adventure. Although it was meant to protect my… Read more >