Like most every other retired gent, I worry, sometimes promiscuously but not to madness. Yet.  But I do. I worry about lots of things, like whether

I hope you’ll agree there is some beauty in this image, an elegance to what Emerson called snow’s “frolic architecture,” something dazzling or graceful in

  I was just eight or nine–this happened a long, long time ago. I was just a kid. I honestly can’t remember how it was

  Okay, I feel a little embarrassed about admitting it because it’s such a “retired guy” thing to do, thumb through a shoebox of old

Gall was no giant, but he had to have been built like grand piano, broad chest, sturdy muscular arms, and impressively toned body. George Armstrong

She holds this single dream. She remembers life in Amherst, before her husband caught a madman’s urge to go west and start a new life

The woman in the story was a practiced marksmen, or so authorities have concluded. When she and her husband got stopped in the black SUV

  I may be wrong, but I don’t believe I’ve ever heard a sermon on that particular OT passage, something out of II Kings, a

Yesterday afternoon I sat with a old man who, once upon a time, shot at surfacing German subs in the North Atlantic, tried to pick