The furnace’s whir and thunderous whomp sometimes wake me up, but not often. That’s the burner kicking in. I don’t have quick access to a thermometer giving me outside readings, but I know when it’s cold overnight from the number of whirs and whomps per hour. Yes, I wake up a few times regardless, but…
Author: Tim Cotton
Does it really take a “Village?”
I’m not complaining; snow is part of the deal here on the Jagged Edge of America. My friends, some already living their “best life” in The Villages, have intermittently given me polite admonitions over my few years spent in the sixties—the age, not the decade. The claim is that I seem like a guy who…
Have Cake, Will Travel
Two hundred sixty miles for cake, but it was a really good cake. Discombobulated is my life, mostly shot from the hip on a handheld camera without film. It would be expensive to find someone to edit it to make it understandable to a normal person. So, I strive on, unedited, feeling secure that a…
Dodging the Stones, Throwing None
With an eye toward light adventure, our trek through life is better shod with something sturdy. Boots? Sure. Good solid toe protection is key. A stout, resilient coat, unimpeded by excessive outer clinging gadgetry that catches on the branches that drag against us and slow us down, is also imperative. But you also need to…
Happy Old Year
None of us can predict our future, but we already know what we’ve done up to this point. Do not discount the benefits of repairing previous damage. Sometimes, repairs are better—stronger— than the original bodywork.
A Few of My Favorite Things—Not
I struggle with all of it: traffic, pushy people, self-checkout, and the overwhelming permeating odor of needing more, faster, better, and more expensive that fills the air around me. What you don’t know about me is that I have a grouchy streak. It rears its ugly little head whenever I’m stuck in traffic or a…
Keep Digging
Don’t judge your day too early; a magical crust might be nearby. Sometimes, it’s right outside the door awaiting discovery. There will be days when you have to dig for the good stuff. Keep digging.
Scraping Our Way Through Winter
“It’s plowable,” was overheard as I sat near the counter of my breakfast spot. “Yeah, it is,” I thought to myself as I waited for scrambled & bacon; I’ve cut back on toast but nibbled the edges before Ellie got the remainder after I returned home. I skip homefries now, too. I love them like…
“Unhappiness Has No Permanent Address”
“Not everyone is having bacon with their breakfast this morning.” My Dad said that to me once; we were having bacon. The Old Man was not trying to be philosophical; he was more whimsical with a side of wisdom—and bacon. It was his version of “The grass is not always greener, but ours is today,”…
Breakfast in America
The late start and the discombobulated manner in which we turned back time put me in the woods far too late in the day to complete the chores before darkness threatened to shut out my lights. The sun’s angle filters the light through the remaining leaves, casting a pleasant yellowish hue over even the gloomiest…