W.C. Fields once returned to a bar following an evening of imbibing, and he asked the bartender, “Was I in here last night, and did I spend a 20 dollar bill?” When the bartender confirmed he had, Fields replied, “Good. I thought I’d lost it.”

Of all the things Carol doesn’t understand about me (contained in her book, What Have I Gotten Myself Into, Vol. 1-,one that confounds even her broadest allowances for abnormal behavior is my attitude toward haircuts.

The second house I lived in became a recurring and enduring nightmare long after we had moved. My first house was a row home in South Philly, which marked my brief Return to the City phase, back in the late 70s.

So it seems to have come down to this: pleasant evenings on our patio enjoying music and a glass, while watching two orb weaver spiders ply their evening artistry.

My first major in college was Psychology. I didn’t make it past the first year. When we reached the chapter on psychological disorders, and I identified with every one of them, I came to the realization that I had declared me as a major. I went to college, so I could become someone other than me, not to make me my own life’s study.

I have to lose a few pounds. Actually, I have to lose a lot of a few pounds. In my long distance running days, I never had to worry about my weight. Running forty miles per week meant everything I ate and drank converted immediately to fuel. I could walk around the house with a Dove Bar in each hand and a stupid grin on my face. Running for me was an obsession, quite possibly an addiction, but without a destructive physical or emotional element. As with all my obsessions, however, running, too, wound up on the ash heap of my history.

I have empathized with and celebrated what parents have faced and triumphed over during this pandemic as it applied to their school aged children. Thinking back to my school days, I try to put my parents in the current predicament to imagine how they might have handled the situation as admirably as their children’s children have been. After picking myself off the floor, my sides aching with the laughter this image provided, I began getting specific.

I’ve always been an uneasy patriot. The country was founded with all its barefaced contradictions written into its very declaration of independence and constitution. It’s hard not to stifle a smirk when reading “All men are created equal,” knowing it was written and nobly approved by…

Before Carol and I met in person two years ago, she wanted me to know she wore hearing aids. I guess she viewed it as some sort of disability or infirmity that I should be aware of in case I had any second thoughts.

Carol noticed a cobweb stuck to my shorts and opined it had formed naturally from a recent, lengthy stay on the couch. Today, I’m going to provide my most devoted readers with a peek behind the curtain of what a writer’s mind looks like when there isn’t an idea present anywhere near it.