My father appreciated every meal my mother prepared for him as if it were the best meal he'd ever eaten.
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My dad, with his finger forever off the pulse of the times. But the chaos of the late 1960s and early 1970s showed up in our food, even if most of the turmoil of the times failed to register in the southern Nevada desert we called home.
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Grandpa was taught "the 3 R's plus" ...the plus included Greek, Hebrew, Latin, and French.
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You know how roosters crow in the morning to greet the dawn? That’s a myth, we learned when we moved in.
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We watched her go through (what I now know are) the five stages of grief in a matter of seconds.
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Long before tv show caricatures, the Lunch Lady was an institution at our elementary school.
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During my senior year in high school I was offered the chance to learn how to fly. In the barren plains northwestern South Dakota, between the bluffs of short pines that sheltered my little airfield I spent my Spring overcoming my fear of heights and fulfilling a lifelong dream of taking to the sky. I soloed on May 1, 1990 and I remember how proud I was when my instructor traditionally cut my shirt tail. I will forever remember those days as my bravest as I took lessons in the loudest classroom in the world.

It is his scent that comes back to me most strongly: a mixture of leather, Barbasol shaving cream, and cigars.
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My grandfather loved horses and gambling more than he loved my grandmother, so he spent a lot of time at the racetrack.
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