In The Cigar Box

I stood there, incredulous. A low, throaty tone from the train whistle intermittently reached back to the depot platform.  Watching the red lamp on the last car of the Southwest Chief rolling through the misty twilight of pre-darkness, my chin dropped to my chest.  The train was soon invisible as it sped west toward the remnants of orange cast by the setting sun in its last gasp of day.  My wife was on that train.  I was supposed to be on it too. There is no defense for having missed the re-boarding call.  Conductors called out “all aboard” in the well hewn style that rises above the din and chatter of potential passengers and departing patrons.  The locomotive whistle blew its three short blasts and repeated its piercing call at least three times.   Anyone with a modicum of awareness knew that it was time to board, time to depart, time to rejoin loved ones waiting in their seat or compartment.  I missed it all. I grabbed my left rea...

Ending an hiatus should be a happy time. A return to normalcy marked by being refreshed and invigorated. The stress of the move has subsided and we are unabashedly happy about being able to get on with our plans. But in the time since this hiatus was declared... So much happened. So little has changed. Three months have ticked away. Another mass shooting where regular folks doing their daily work perished - this time in the nation’s capitol and on a Naval installation. The callouses of repetition have rendered such events so close to commonplace that this one could barely sustain commentary through two news cycles. In that same city, Congress exudes wanton disregard for the people it serves - appearing to be motivated by dogmatic voices that divide and demean rather than listening to Lincoln who said to bind up wounds with malice toward none and charity for all.  The usual August is a time when breezes blow like jet exhaust. This August threw off her normal demeanor and gav...