You’ll notice that “Books” weren’t high on our list. They’re deep in “Everything Else”, somewhere between “Sports” and “Toe Cheese”. (Listen Magazine, 2004 October)

What I used to skip as a ten-minute detour now loads in ten seconds. Great. Now I can try to read the whole Internet

It will take me awhile to get used to paying disaster-area prices for plants I recently yanked out of the dirt.

Last week, I was hauling mammoth logs from a chill stream and heaving them into rickety ‘cabin’ piles so they could sprout shiitake mushrooms. Now, I’m staring at a screen, sitting in a chair that, while comfy, can’t quite take the edge off eight hours.

I write this amid my last harried ten minute whirlwind of packing, but that is as well because months and months would be far too little time to find the right words to thank all those we leave.

If the future held only pavement and parking tickets, yes, my soul would be careening towards permanent raisinhood. But the immediate future holds a cozy, mouse-free home, my wife’s friendly family, a hot bath (perhaps several), months of serious writing, and my own computer. I am dreadfully excited.

Genghis Khan, Attila the Hun, Napoleon, Hitler, Lenin, Sam Walton—the same old story over and over again. The world can’t seem to get itself properly conquered.

So when we passed a lovely stone house for the three hundredth time and my wife finally said, “Let’s see if anyone’s home,” my first thought was, “But they’re strangers.”

Today I sang while I yanked carrots.

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