DISQUS

Most drawers are filled with debris not mine, so I dug deep into the closet and found my old jewelry box...a picture of me with a very curly perm - circa disco era. Gaudy gold bracelet - ditto. A pic of four folks from Meadow Brook Theater - backstage folks (one of my roommates was prop lady), a coffee bean necklace from El Salvador (1968 - 4-H International Peace Corp tour), an Anderson for President button, a button from the March on Washington November 15 - Stop the War (yes, I was there in 1969), a button that says simply, King - I believe my first wife has the Queen; a peace symbol that was once a necklace, a name tag from Pontiac Motors, 5 pair of cufflinks (probably haven't worn these since the '70's), three coral necklaces - can't remember where these came from, most likely from college friends long forgotten, a mood ring, tie tacks from various children, a pic of me in plaid bellbottoms, a McGovern button, .....ak, too many memories.....

my pocket, on the other hand, only has two quarters and a bloodstone rock I always carry.

5. Dad watching his three sons practice handstands in the front yard. "I can do that." Except when he did, huge amounts of change fell from his pockets and we forgot all about how cool Dad was and scrambled for the money with Mom in hysterics.

4. Going Up North to my Uncle's unfinished cabin, and late at night, Dad going with me into the woods with a shovel and flashlight. (Hey, guys, I was maybe 5)

3. Dad adamantly refusing to go on the Maid of the Mist at Niagra Falls - it wasn't the boat, it was the trolley thingy that you rode down the cliff.

4. Mom and Dad's second courtship. Started when I was twelve and went full bore until I left for college. They would go out dancing every Saturday night, dinner and drinks and more dancing. They were both forty and I have a little brother 13 years younger than me just to show how much fun they had.

5. Dad and Mom sitting on lawn chairs, under the tree in the front yard, just gazing out at the neighbor's farm. They were so happy. They hauled those lawn chairs all over the country and whenever they would stop the motorhome for the night, the chairs would come out and they would sit gazing at whatever was there. It was all they needed - something I'm still striving for.

A murder? When I was 10, a widow lady in our very small town was found strangled with her own nylons on her living room floor. Most everyone thought it was her son-in-law but he was never arrested. A few years ago, when the old jailhouse was torn down and they were moving evidence boxes, I got a chance to go through it. Fascinating stuff. I've been working on a cozy mystery based on this case. But, oddly, I have had to be creative since the actual case is too absurd to be believable.

In my college years, it was the massacre at Kent State. It became clear that going from anitwar rally to antiwar rally, getting radical, was not the way to go. Once they started killing us, it was time to put the picket signs away and find a way to work within the system.

Now, I seem to know everyone, or have a connection to everything that happens around here. I know the young man serving life in prison for the Jenny Jones case. I worked with a builder and parked my car five feet from a body that had been dumped at a house site. (No, I didn't discover it, ran into a news crew there the next morning.) I have reporter friends who call me now when anything happens because it's likely I'll have some information.

Interesting question, Susan. Gets the brain cells moving.

We all wish Patry the best. We've been doing this a long time, listening to the waitress tales while she worked towards getting her book deal, reveling in her success when it finally came, encouraging the second book, and now, worrying and praying for a swift and complete recovery.

I tend not to cry - in the context here. I cry at everything else - weddings, sappy shows, overwhelmed with emotion by the family. Been a long time since I've lost it over events in my life. Wife is the one who watches over me, knows when to hug, when to push me back into the fight.

I tried door to door - no way - I don't like them either. I wanted a job where I could set my own hours, work on that rewrite if necessary without having to worry about a boss wondering where I was. Though I've found out that productivity goes up for both endeavors jointly. If I'm selling well, I'm writing well. Don't have an explanation for it, but it does work. I only do business to business sales - small business owners are the greatest in the world.

Not sure how to answer this really - my day job is a salesman, i sell advertising to businesses. Cold calling takes guts, sometimes a return visit does as well. You never know what you're going to find.

Case in point: Semi-regular customer, I hopped in, smiling, "how's everything going?" Standard stuff. He bought, wrote me a check, but I could tell his mind was somewhere else. Finally, I said, "Everything all right?" He stared at me a long moment, then said, "This morning at breakfast, my fifteen year old daughter came down the stairs, threw an EPT on the table and asked, "Now what the F*** do we do?"

I helped the best I could but it was really hard putting on my happy face and walking into the next business.