February 27, 2017

“He collected aluminum storm doors, insulation, and never lost his love of trips to the dump.”
Obituary for Eric Boyden

A trip to the dump around nine at night used to mean you’d see The Bears. I pulled up one night, and there lined up, facing forward, pointing across the tiny scoop of valley were SUV’s with their lights on as if they were showing the movie at the drive-in. And around the SUVs were moms and dads and babies in arms and little kids looking over the edge of the pit, into the garbage. Slow and deliberate, three black bears moved across plastic bags hurled in earlier in the day.

One bear was much larger that the other two. That big bear appeared to be a powerful male. He picked up speed and there was nothing lumbering about his gait.



February 6, 2017

Before I bought my first house, I asked my father if he could “help” with the mortgage. We met in the house I was considering. It was bright daylight outside, but you’d never know it from where we stood…inside, looking out the living room window. The porch was under an overhang and hadn’t seen the sun since the early 1930s. It was a dark little house. Made darker by no electricity. It had been turned off. Actually it had been condemned but I didn’t know it and the real estate agent didn’t disclose.