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I put on the coffee and ducked out for the morning mail
A short stroll down a long driveway
Into the world and a brand new day
It is cool and brisk and I, rushing,
Almost missed it.
The birds were first, chirping, flitting through trees
Then shafts of sunlight poked through the clouds.
The air was heavy from last night’s rain,
And small buds appeared on the tips of trees.
It smelled of hope. Continue reading
It was late. The kids had all gone home and I was left with twenty plates of the famous Gleason Family Christmas Cookies, awaiting delivery. They now occupied every available space in the kitchen and dining room. My feet were sore. My back was sore and I was too tired to make a fire.
“I’m done.” My wife unplugged the tree, kissed me goodnight and headed up the stairs.
“I’ll be up in a minute.” I poured myself a second glass of wine and eased my backside into my corner of the couch. I couldn’t remember ever being so tired. Continue reading
I have a typewriter. It’s sits on a bookshelf in my office next to a few of my favorite collected first editions. An old metal collapsible Corona, it’s a Spartan-looking machine with two tin spools that stretch an ink-laden ribbon across the face of its carriage. Individual metal keys labeled with the letters of the alphabet stand out from its frame. When pressed (more like punched), they lift a thin metal arm with the appropriate typeface out of the belly of the beast. The typeface strikes the ink ribbon to stamp its image onto a sheet of paper rolled around the rubber carriage. It still functions (“works” being too strong a word).
My mother gave it to me. The daughter of Polish and German parents, (which is a story all by itself) she grew up in Hamburg, a small town outside of Buffalo, New York. A bright, confident, athletic young woman, she was passionate about music and so impressed her piano teacher that the woman gave her an upright Krakauer piano to further her musical talent. Continue reading