Author: Tim Cotton

I perused my food stores this past Sunday. I was apprised that my significant other had recalibrated the cupboards in an earnest effort to protect me from future bouts of food poisoning. These were her words, not mine. She told me about this newfound and—apparently— life-changing event as we drove through the pre-dawn darkness on…

My sixties-inspired raised ranch has limited closet space; the designer had more minimalistic homeowners in mind during the building phase. It’s not so much that I don’t have enough closets, it’s just that the closets that I do have are too small. The coat closet— and there is only one near the entry door—would better…

I could have charged the wireless headphones a bit longer, but I didn’t. The Air Pods were fully operational during the early morning flight out of Pittsburgh, but they gave out soon after I landed in Charlotte, North Carolina. I could have taken an opportunity to pull out a pair of wired headphones that I…

He walked into the house and was immediately overwhelmed by the smell of stale cigarettes. No one smoked in this house; the odor was stowed away— invisibly— in the fibers of the dark blue uniform. He went directly to the basement, scuffed across the cold floor, and then pulled the chrome beaded chain to turn…

Cedars are not particularly handsome trees, but they are hardy and grow very well in this climate. This specific cedar is huddled-up close to my dining room window. So close that when the wind comes out of the north—and it does most of the time—it claws at the siding and sometimes bumps the window as…

March days fall away like lines of dropping dominos as the changing angle of spring sunbeams miniaturize the surrounding piles of snow. The retreating armies of shrinking granules resort to a watery escape toward ditches and streams. Overnight temperatures drop so quickly that fleeing liquids become solids. During the hours of darkness, the stubborn forces…

Who writes an essay about poached eggs? Not a man who is expecting others to take him seriously. Oh, sure, there are serious bones in my body, but I keep much of that to myself. I choose not to become intertwined in deep conversations when someone expects me to interject some grand idea. My grand…

The curtains of February darkness were yanked-down quickly as I attempted to re-read “Moby Dick” under the illumination of a yellowing map light in the Green Glider. I waited in the parking lot the grocery store, knowing that it’s better to wait it out when her mission includes handwritten lists. The Green Glider is the…

This is a piece I wrote for the Car Talk website a few years ago. I dragged it out from a shelf in the hall closet to add it to my Newslog this week. I’ve fiddled with it over time. It’s still a favorite from my early writings on venues outside Facebook. It’s called, Lawn…