It was 3:00 in the morning when my cell phone rang. Which is rarely ever a good thing. Maybe that’s why I bolted upright in the bed while simultaneously grabbing for the offending piece of technology.

I have a confession to make. There are days when I’ll set the air conditioning on 65 and get the house cold enough to hang meat . . . and then light the fireplace.

If you’re a semi-regular reader, then you know I’ve been enduring that right of passage known as “The Packing of Parental Possessions”. For the last several months, the focus has been on cleaning out the apartment they occupied for 30 years . . .

When John Jacobs died of pancreatic cancer on October 29, 2005, his family was devastated. The New York defense attorney believed in staying connected to those he cherished the most, something he managed to accomplish by calling them three or four times a day on his beloved Motorola T720 cell phone . . .

There’s a place I’m privileged to visit on occasion—a civilized wilderness of sorts—where very few people intrude and my desire for hermitism (not to be confused with hermetism which is a philosophical or religious system based on the teaching of Hermes Trismegistus . . . mine just means I like being left alone) is fulfilled.

I am a lover of words and occasionally manage to put them together in a half-way decent manner. Ask me to speak to you spontaneously . . . off the cuff . . . with no preparation . . . and my brain freezes.

In a bookcase in the office in Savannah, you’ll find all kinds of books, mostly on grief (which makes perfect sense given that it’s an office in a funeral home).

When my daughter was in second grade the music program at her school disappeared. I don’t remember if it was a lack of personnel or a lack of funding or a lack of personnel caused by a lack of funding . . .

On November 21st of 2021, I wrote the blog “The Ultimate Reminder” about a gentleman I’d literally known all my life . . . about his acknowledgment that his circle of older family members and friends was rapidly dwindling . . . about how hard it was to watch them leave.