Columnists

“He told me we were eators not eatees,”

I am a born hunter-gatherer and vintager

There are other, much more mysterious, ways to lose socks

The near-hoarding quality of those of us with, perhaps, the ability to fix and repair material things but not the time

They’re pigmented all in my pantheon, spanning the globe

I hardly recognized myself — letting time go by without purpose

Who darns things anymore anyway, seems the right question

It makes you want to take your shirt off and do jumping jacks

We attended a celebration held in memory of our dear old friend Marlys

This one learned how to say “God damn it” and a whole lot more from hanging around the fish market