Category: Nonfiction

In nineteen thirty-something, between The Depression and World War II, Dad built a small box, not big enough to call a chest or locker, from scraps of pine board, nailed together and screwed down with unnecessarily heavy hinges. He
On occasion, this distant memory surfaces at curious moments. I’m unsure why. However random and peculiar, I suppose the event over fifty years ago had some significance for my young mind. One night when I was six or seven,
“Man, if that ol’ porch rocker could talk . . . … What a tale of tails it could tell!” Over seventy-five year’s worth of tales, that’s what. There’s Arvie’s arse and Cowboy’s keister, Hank’s heinie, Bill’s bum, Carolyn’s
Each of us exists in the tension between Eros and Thanatos. Eros is the life impulse, procreation, our survival instinct. Thanatos is the pull of death. Every living creature feels this pull because it is where we will all,

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