Author Archive

Slate Rocks

During the chalkboard years of not-so-long ago, before the smart board, before the laptop, when chalk dust ruled the air and made us sneeze, my young elementary school classmates and I would compete for the privilege of washing the slate chalkboard or banging the erasers together at the end of the day.  O joy!  To race with

The Woolx Perk

The percolator is plugged in again.  In a few seconds small murmurings will be discerned, murmurings that, like the small puffs of a breeze that begin at dawn along the beach, will soon swell into a series of waves crashing upon the kitchen shore.  How such a small device can voice such a powerful presence

Forking it Over

And thus it is that I find myself writing about forks.   I don’t know why forks have been of interest lately, they simply are.  Life is like that.  I’m not ruminating on tuning forks or knives and forks; nor a river fork or the devil’s fork.    The forks capturing my imagination represent a dilemma that tease the brain (and nothing

Gang Way for Woolx

Boys are not boys, as the expression goes, they are more like groupies.  Two of them can cause an international crisis (I came close to that without a brother), but when three or more exist, look out.  They come together like atoms in the Super Collider and, like those scientists who are never quite sure as to the result,

The Perfect Date

Who doesn’t love a good date?  I’ve been dating for years and always find pleasure in them.    My wife even enjoys a good date as well.  We often do dates together – but not always.  Sometimes she has her own dates and sometimes I have mine.  Either way, we have no complaints.  In this

Woolx Redux

There was once a popular ad on television, an ad of not that long ago, that had to do with donuts.  Donuts, those good tasting bad boys in the round, are what I call a prophetic food.  A prophetic food is one that, if consumed in great enough quantity, will make the eater look like what’s being eaten.

Negotiating With The Wicked Witch

The first time I saw Margaret Hamilton as the Wicked Witch of the West I was naturally fascinated and, being a kid, a bit scared.  Maybe more than a bit scared.  In those days when the world was all black and white, my friends and I eagerly awaited the annual airing of the Oz story on TV,

Win One For The Nipper!

Missed it again.  Drat.  Double drat!  Every year, and it seems my track record is impeccable, I tell myself in November I’ll get to pruning those fruit trees out there before the ice and snow and the accumulated detritus of winter’s  breath get to me – before I need Woolx! – before I find myself looking out

Dangerous Dan McGrew Wore Woolx

On these exceedingly crisp nights of winter when the plumes of furnace smoke from houses seem indistinguishable from the all too common strata cumulus lumps that swarm the Upstate night skies and dogs bark at the sounds of icicled branches clicking in the breeze, questions of what cold really means come to the fore.  It’s a relative

Walking The Wall Dogs

Nothing like coming across a sign.  “That’s a good sign,” says your pal when you tell him you got the green light for a second date.  “Just a sign of the times,” laments mom when her daughter says she can’t live without a cell phone.  “There’s a signpost up ahead and it reads – The Twighlight Zone,” cautions