I was recently shopping for groceries in a big box retail store that begins with the letter “W” and ends with “mart”. I was waiting in the checkout line and was watching the scene unfold in front of me.

The family in front of me were making their purchases and the last item was a jug of  wine. The cashier was unable to ring the wine through so she called for assistance. It came in the form of a smallish, mid 60’s woman with glasses and power in her pocket. She approached the family. A male, a female and a younger woman holding a baby.  Before she could ring it through she asked ALL of them for ID. They didnt’ all have it so she refused to sell them the wine.

As I watched I made eye contact with the customer and we looked at each other as if to say WTF? The manager proceeded to inform the customer that they could not sell it without ID for everyone. This was she stated “  W..M Policy” which was followed by “If you walk outside and a policeman is outside it could cause trouble for us ” Really?

Now let’s analyze this… would a policeman interact on the suspicion of an unopened bottle of wine, possibly in a sack? Do they now possess X-ray eyes that see through sacks? Is everyone subject to this kind of scanning? I have never been “party scanned” before in all my years of visiting this store. If we are going to ID  entire families for alcohol, I wonder what the “policy” is for something like guns?

I believe not, You see the family in front of me was from another country, and that I believe was the source of the extensive overkill on the ID process. I don’t believe it had anything to do with “policy”. It was simply an employee wielding the sword of power over people she didn’t like. It felt wrong and unjust and I wanted to step up and defend the family.

I phoned the store manager as soon as I got outside, I was told that it is policy under the discretion of the manager/cashier and that no it wasn’t posted. I responded that if it wasn’t a across the board but more of a Willy / Nilly policy can it hardly be called a policy? Her response was that we have 1000s of policies we can’t post them all.  I understand, but this one is big, because if you require a TSA level scan for the family, but sell it to me with a wink, I might think you were being unfair, prejudice or racist.

Yes, it bothered me that much, because I felt that it was not valid and it was degrading to the family and without cause.

So I stood up for them in the best way that I knew how, as a fellow human  seeking fair treatment for all, yes even at a discount store..

Stand up for injustice today.





Keystone Boots

I remember that day so well.   I had flown out to see my friend after discovering online that she was suffering and had been poisoned by toxic water at Camp Lejeune.

She met me at the airport, the drugs trying to fight the cancer had taken a toll on her but she was still as beautiful as ever.

I spent the weekend with her at her home, we laughed, we watched movies, we talked. But it was the trip to Keystone that is etched in my mind so vividly. She awoke that morning and was ready for a good day. The day before we had visited the pharmacy and received her medicinal marijuana (love Colorado). She shows them an ID card and they give her 2 ounces of Marijuana.

That morning we got up and she was in her incredible bathroom getting ready to take on the day. Her hair was super short but it was growing back from her most recent bout of treatment. That bathroom had enormous windows with a view to match, she told me that was why they built the bathroom there, so she could see the mountains while she luxuriated in the spa tub. Just screams aaaahhhh.. relaxation.

This bathroom also harbored another secret… the volcano. The volcano is a device sorta like a vaporizer of sorts for MJ. She swore me to secrecy ( but I don’t really think it was unknown to other members of the household) . It was her vehicle to receive her treatment, it relieved her pain. Once she completed the treatment she was pain-free for a few hours.

It was then she performed a rocking dance routine 1and sang a song with her daughter (she was always singing) as she prepared to “do something”. She informed us all that we were going to Keystone and to get ready to go.

She put on her jeans and a black sweater, kinda of long if I remember right, and large hoop earrings, lipstick and then those boots.  I can still see her sitting on the edge of that California king bed and pulling on those boots and telling me she felt powerful and full of attitude when she put them on.

They were a pair of well- worn Frye boots, square -toed and broken in. They looked great and completed her attitude against cancer, at least for that day.

We drove to Keystone and it was a cold brisk day. Snow on the ground. My first memory of Keystone was sparkling. The village twinkled in the late afternoon dusk and we strolled around, we stopped in a store and bought a hat for my ill prepared head. Then we went to a restaurant and got a bite to eat. She may have been sick on the inside but she was in charge on the outside. In a very crowded restaurant we had a table in minutes. It was her charm that did it.

We laughed and she told stories about the ski lift an escapade she had on it, something about getting on it too late and it was actually closed and they couldn’t get back.. Very Denita. It was a glorious day.

That day is etched in my memory, on that day she wasn’t sick, she was just Dee.

After she passed away, we were going through a few of her things and her son said take anything you want, Mom would like you to have them. I got the boots, plus a few other items that I treasure. I really didn’t need her wigs or intricately beaded gowns, but the boots were a perfect fit. Not really, they are an 8. I am a 7.5, but I make it work.

I don’t wear the boots often but when I  do I feel her presence and her attitude. So does anyone else who slides their foot in them for that matter. To me they are like the sisterhood of the traveling boots. Somewhat magical and when you put your foot in them like Cinderella’s slippers something magic happens. I channel her strength, her fight, her  persistence, her attitude. I feel protected, powerful and loved in those boots. And for a brief time, she is alive once more.

I will always think of them as Keystone Boots.

Until Next Time,



Some people in life are so memorable they only need one name and hearing it opens a floodgate of experiences and emotions of a life well lived.

I remember the first time I saw a photograph of her and how taken  I was by her raw beauty. The photo was found among some possessions of a friend and it was ceremoniously placed on the windshield of a car, it was not a usual place to find a photo of such perfection, but of all the stories I have heard, she was unconventional herself so the location didn’t seem odd. It was perfect.

The photograph was a simple black and white professional still shot in a simple black frame. She was dressed in a dark shirt pure simplicity and elegance. Her dark hair falling slightly disheveled about her delicate porcelain face.  Crop cut hair with bangs trailing somewhat unevenly high across her forehead. Her eyes intense and focused on what ever the photographer wanted her to see. My first thought was that she looked timeless and from another era. As I studied the picture, I had no idea who she was and then I realized.. it was her, the woman loved by so many.  She lit up that photo and life itself.

I have seen numerous photos of her over the last few years, sometimes with bright red lips looking breathtakingly beautiful  and other times leaning easily back on the legs of a friend in a group picture.  I have heard her life story and her untimely departure and while I never met her, I feel that I know her too.

Because of the love the world has for her and how it remains present in hearts to this day, she is eternal. Her kindness, her dedication, her goodness, her strength and her spiritualism, all surround the story of her life. She was a beauty whose heart was too big and her body simply couldn’t hold that much heart.

A few months ago on a trip near her hometown, I was given directions which I followed, the car honestly seemed to be driving itself. I found myself in a beautiful large city cemetery and  as we wound through the slender cemetery drive, it seemed to know the destination and the car silently rolled to a stop. We crossed the street and there were three nameplates in the green ground, hers was the third. A simple plate bearing her name. It was as if I was visiting royalty and I was honored to be there. To see her named etched in the stone, made her life, the lives she touched and her early departure very real.

Standing by her grave I witnessed the impact one human being can have on another. I listened as he let her know that the people she loved so much in her earthly life, are doing well and that she would be proud of their accomplishments. I watched as a man wept unashamed for a friend that will be forever missed.

I believe she heard.

Until Next Time,



Black Thursday

So I haven’t been to Black Friday in forever. We used to go when the reward was something like a snow globe. The stakes at Wal-Mart were high, vacuums, computers, bedding etc.
We ventured out as a reconnaissance mission for the next day. The ACTUAL Black Friday that falls on…Friday. There was one item I had noticed 3 or 4 days prior and decided to pop in pick it up and leave. Easy easy.. I had not counted on Wal-Mart Vampires.
As we approached Wal-Mart the first thing that caught our attention, we had just come from Kmart.. which had not a soul in sight. As we pulled into the lot we noted there were 5 police vehicles parked outside in the cart holding area. Hmmm. Interesting.. we parked and began our walk to the lair of shopping hell.
We entered the store and the first thing to catch my eye is the caution tape securing the safe zone around the cashiers, that we were forbidden to enter and the police positioned there let us know this was non-negotiable.
As we began the perimeter walk of the store out of fear and understanding out surroundings, something that goes back to my military training. There were bin after bin of items listed in the Black Friday flyer all strategically placed in the center aisles. Shopping vampires were standing at the ready with empty carts…strategically placed next to the appropriate bins. It was like night of the living dead. They all looked like zombies who were strategically zoned in on a particular item of choice. The following message blared over the loudspeakers “shoppers do not handle the merchandise before the 6pm start of Black Friday” Only.. it’s Thursday.
The entire store held a feeling of foreboding like Dusk till Dawn when they first enter the vampire bar unbeknown to them. But we decided to go for it, our items were at the front of the store and we had brought our secret weapon, a 13 year- old, who loves this excitement. She would ensure we grabbed our bounty. I accidentally touched an item and was reprimanded by not just my daughter ( I didn’t know the rules of Black Thursday and feared for my life. ) but also the nice woman who explained the no touching rule. Silly but there is a culture to this nightmare.
At the witching hour (6pm) the full fledge melee began. The grabbing, the shoving, the utter chaos and complete lack of shopping etiquette and human civility. As we began the walk to the beginning of the cashier line, we were following directions, we hear and see a breach of the rules. I thought Alabama would go off with red lights surrounding the offending shopper. The set up for corralling those wishing to venture into the arena of actual purchasing began half way through the store indicated with a balloon overhead, far too high for an average person to see.. so of course everyone was going in the wrong direction. Think traffic jam . And when they realize they must turn around and access the line… chaos. Rudeness to follow.
We will focus our analysis on the two women with an overflowing cart and self important attitude. When they realized they have gone the wrong way, they turned around their cart and proceed to announce to the crowd “ If you don’t want to get hit, get out of my way” Really? And they proceed to push their cart under the yellow caution tape that is set up for makeshift aisles.. sort of . Unbelievably unrefined. I know it is Wal-Mart.
As we are anxiously waiting to pay for our purchase and get out of Dodge safely , Wild West Reference.. the sweet woman behind us admires our choices and we offer up the 13 year- old who is anxious to hurl herself into the river of customers the wrong way ( think salmon swimming upstream) to retrieve another item for our new retail buddy.
As we watch anxiously for her return to safety, the 15 seconds she is gone are agonizing, sure she has been swallowed by the shopping frenzy.. when suddenly she appears around the corner, bounty held high..when the aforementioned self – serving women hit her with their carts… Wrong move.. She flips around her waist length hair and gives her the look of death.. We quickly grab her under the yellow tape to safety. She is a feisty one.
Soon we are summoned to the register..by the assigned bouncer who shares, “my second year, still not fun”. we are nearly to safety , joy fills our hearts. We pay and move quickly out into the cold night air, feeling as if I should be wearing a sticker that says “ I survived Wal-Mart!”

Until Next Time,


Love American Style

I loved that show in the 70’s. It was fun. It exploded with fireworks. It must have influenced my love of love.

Fireworks, excitement and laughs. That show had it all.

For those of you who don’t know or choose to forget it, it was a show that provided glimpses ( 15 minutes segments) into modern love, comedy style. It had a groovy theme song and was the brainchild of Paramount television. 108 glorious episodes glittering with movie stars in all their glory. Showing us love. Sort of. TV love, perfectly quirky and it always turned out all right.

Now decades later I believe in love and the comedy of it all.  All kinds of love, new and breathless, loud, conflicted, tolerant, caring, supportive, cautious, mushy, gushy, unrequited, impetuous, youthful, aged, life long ….love.

I believe in them all. Through the pain of life, good and bad choices, heartbreak and heartache I still believe in the chance of true love. The wonder and excitement of meeting someone you want to share life with and embracing the “I love Lucy” episodes that often accompany real life love. Because life in itself is funny for the most part and love is at it’s center.

Age doesn’t define love, a heart filled with hope does. I watch people and rejoice in the expressions of love. Sometimes it’s hard to recognize as it is bathed in something called “life”.. It might take the form of a middle-aged couple walking the grocery aisles and she mentions how she wants a new lunch-bag, he says if you want one pick one out.. that’s love.  or an elderly man who walks on the street side with his bride of 70 years, to protect her. that’s love. Maybe it’s a young couple with a baby in tow and he listens as she releases her overwhelming fears of motherhood in a torrent of tears and yelling that’s a love.

Love is not for the faint of heart, it takes determination, compassion and compromise. For those who can endure the rewards are bountiful. You build a life together, one of your own design, maybe its a house in the country, maybe an apartment in the city or a trailer by the sea. More than that, it’s that joy of having coffee on a lazy morning, doing nothing but being together, holding hands, doing something you don’t love, encouragement to chase dreams, holding you when times are tough and laughing with you harder than anyone else. But it’s not all wine and roses, there are disagreements, isolation and sometimes endings. All those things together are love.

Life is a tough thing and continuing to dust yourself off and get back in the game is key to survival. Never giving up on love is the supreme game of chance. Despite your heartbreak, despite the chance it might fail, Take the chance.

If you want love, go for it. Bask in the joy of the adventure, and rejoice when you find it. It’s worth it and you deserve it.

Until Next Time,


Holiday Lights

I live in the land of John Deere and last night was the Annual Lighting of the Commons. The Commons is an area located downtown owned by Deere and the showplace of their long and storied history. It is surrounded by other establishments and is a centerpiece for the downtown area. annually with much ceremony the commons are lit to kick off the holiday season.I was surprised to learn that this was the 21st year, it seems like they built it yesterday. This was my first visit.

The annual Festival of Trees parade was a wash due to uncooperative weather and since we were going to the hockey game and the weather cleared up, we decided to go. it was a great choice. It was a brisk night and everyone was wearing winter hats, gloves and coats, this is the Midwest it doesn’t stop us, we just bundle up!

The street was blocked off about half way up and people were filling the brick patio that is in front of the Deere Store. There was a small stage set up in one corner and Santa on the other side. His line was long filled with young parents and smiling rosey cheeked  children ( this is Illinois in November!) As we made our way through the crowd, I saw Santa being escorted through the crowd to the stage, he was all smiles and authentic hair and beard, his own I wager.  After he reached the stage, he was joined by a couple of local newscasters and the Mayor of Moline for the official festivities.

The Mayor spoke and introduced Santa who then took his turn at the mic, he had a lovely voice, it matched his appearance, he wished the crowd a Happy Holiday season and led the countdown with the crowd. As we reached the number one he flipped the giant silver light switch in his hand and the holiday season had begun!

The trees on the common lit up and the giant tree that is located across the street in front of Taxslayer Center ( more on that later) sparkled like diamonds in the cold night air. It really was beautiful white lights on all and twinkling in the night.The official lighting was followed by a fireworks display of gold,green, red and white lights. It was wonderful to stand there in the cold crisp night and watch the fireworks exploding against the night sky.

But even more was watching the crowd. As the crowd sang along with the Christmas songs booming from the speakers,  and the faces of little ones enjoying fireworks for the first time, displaying their excitement without any inhibitions I was reminded of how good the world can be.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, families still stood, listening to the music and swaying quietly not wanting the magic to end. As I walked from the Commons to the Taxslayer center across the street, I was soaking in the sights. The young family behind us, Mom and Dad baby in the stroller, young man standing in front of Dad, Dad’s hand on his shoulder, all looking upwards at the sky. The woman in her wheelchair trying to maneuver the crowd. The group of preteens awkwardly standing in the corner because they wanted to appear detached and cool at the same time wanting to be part of the fun. The elderly couple that braved the night to see the lights and were holding hands.

It was a lovely Midwestern night, wish you were there.

Even if the Holidays aren’t your favorite, I hope you take time to enjoy the lights.

Until Next Time,


Showers and WTF?

My current rental home was built in the late 1800’s and it occasionally shows its age. If you have ever seen the movie the Money Pit starring Tom Hanks and Shelly Long, this could easily be my house.

I have a good landlord, she fixes things timely despite living 2.5 hours away. But as problems arise, they usually do not follow any specific normal timetable. As matter of fact they can be downright untimely.

The most recent adventure began in the wee hours of a Monday morning. My slated shower time slot is 5:15. On this particular morning my schedule was off and I was soon to find out why..

My daughter opened the bathroom door and announced, the shower fell off of the wall. WTF?

I enter the bathroom, and I see the bathtub ring that connects the claw foot shower hoop to the wall has become separated from the wall. The connector to the fixture is loose and flailing about wildly..I am calm, my eyes are almost open and focused on the problem at hand.  I have been told more than once, I am a fixer. And for those of you that aren’t, it means I get stuff done..I fix problems.

And this was a problem for many reasons. First I am 5’4” tall, so is my daughter. We are trying to reattach the fixture to the wall. No, I didn’t go and get the step stool, it is 0525 am. I use my better judgement to stand on the edge of the bathtub  with one foot balancing on each side. My daughter is acting as my spotter. I am trying to reinsert the screws into the wall. Of course I don’t have my glasses on and can’t really see the holes, but that is just a small inconvenience. Unfortunately, the screw holes left behind are far too large and will not support the weight of the shower ring. But none the less I keep trying. In the process the shower ring hits my daughter in the head, no blood drawn and we keep up our futile effort of reattachment.

Finally I admit a momentary defeat. I am not beaten. Just on hiatus unti I return from work. I quietly enter the bedroom and announce to my sleeping guy, the shower fell off the wall, don’t use it, I will get supplies after work. He gets up and enters the lair of shower hell. He is taller and the reattachment is less of a challenge. He somehow precariously inserts the original screws into the original holes and they are hanging on, but with very little security.  We reattach the connector pole, only it has broken off in the melee and is leaking profusely. I shove it back on to the faucet fixture and pray for it to work. It sort of does. But two days into the “repair” the shower begins to leak again. I am in the kitchen beneath the bathroom and I feel a drop of water on my face. I look up and see water droplets falling from the kitchen ceiling onto the  floor, gently drop by drop making a puddle. I give in. I get a bucket and text the landlord, Time to call in the professionals.

The landlord arrives and $500 later we have a fully functioning bathtub and shower..

But the story isn’t over yet. The landlord was advised that the shower faucet and handles should be replaced in the near future. However, after the $500 bill she decides to not pursue quite yet.  And our shower fun continues. This time the fun begins at 430 am. I am in the shower, shampoo in my hair when I suddenly feel something fly past my leg and the water pressure from above diminishes quickly. I open one eye then the other and I feel a burning sensation on my leg. I look down, trying not to get shampoo in my eyes and see that the faucet handle has flown off due to pressure and basically exploded. A projectile of sorts in the bathtub. There is a beam of water , burning hot magma temperature  ( that resembles a Jedi light saber) shooting straight across the tub and into  the wall. Needless to say it was a mess.. I hop out with hair filled with shampoo , dripping wet and quickly turn off the water to the tub. I throw towels on the floor and run downstairs to rinse my hair in the kitchen sink and again I text the landlord.  It was repaired within 24 hours.

And once again we have a fully functioning shower/bath. The joys of not being attacked mid shower by flying pieces of porcelain and metal. Priceless.

I hope your day flows along like a quiet gurgling stream and not a white water rapids.

Until Next Time,


Small Victories

I started a new job about 6 weeks ago, and part of the ritual of getting to work is walking from a remote parking lot up a hill and over the other side to the hospital where I work, maybe a mile each way.

You cannot park on the facility unless you have a carpool ( I do not) . There  are lots of options, campus bus, city bus etc.  But I choose to walk, I have asthma and my initial focus was that walking would make my lungs stronger and the asthma weaker.

The first day I was sure I was going to die before I reached the top of the hill. I was relieved when I didn’t. I kept doing it, and it got easier. A small victory.

Then I developed bronchitis and the progress halted. I learned to ride the free bus, thanks to a PGY2 student who was kind enough to guide the novice bus rider in the right direction. I now have a winter plan if I need it.

I plowed through during the illness and kept walking with a scarf on my mouth and moving at a much slower speed. Not really making progress but persisting.  That is me. Persistent if nothing.

As I plodded along praying no one would speak to me as walking and talking while tackling the hill is not a wise option.

During my morning walks I noted a threesome of coworkers who always walk as well. We frequently begin together but within minutes they are far ahead of me. It seems youth walks faster. As I watched the silhouettes get smaller and smaller it became my goal someday to walk even with them and maintain my pace in step with them.

I had to find a way to increase my steps and develop a good pace. I accomplished this with music. I put on headphones and walk with the music. It ranges from day to day, sometimes its the Lumineers, sometimes Etta James and sometimes it just random, whatever pops up. It has helped improve my pace.

The return trip to the remote parking lot is the same journey in reverse. But today was different. As I headed out from work it was about 45 degrees, not too cold. Brisk. I saw them ahead of me again. I was determined to keep pace.  I was slightly behind the trio but I persisted. As I headed down the hill I gained momentum and was just a few steps behind.

As we crossed at the light for them final stretch I was right on their heels.  The taller one who looks very Zac Brownish, saw me behind him and said “sorry we are slowing you down!”  I said “Are you kidding? You are usually far ahead of me, I feel victorious!” I kept up.. and I even passed them briefly. They joined in my victory and I may have developed a walking camaraderie due to my victory outburst. We reached the parking lot and went our separate ways. But for a moment I am sure I heard the theme from Rocky in the distance.

Not exactly a marathon, but I still have time.

A Small Victory, but. I will take it.

I hope you recognize your small victories and bask in the glow of them.

Until Next Time,



Boo! It’s here again, the creepy sweet holiday. I have always loved Halloween. I am not exactly sure why, maybe the dressing up  and getting to be someone else for a couple of hours or the anticipation of endless candy.  Either way, I look forward to it.

I grew up in the 60’s so our costumes ran the gamut. At the beginning on the 60’s it was the coveted costume in a box. They would be in the stores, and you chose your face basically. I say that because the boxes were square, the top was clear and the mask was displayed on top of the rest of the costume. And for me the mask was the coveted possession. The mask changed your face or hid it. I remember the plastic mask that fit over your face, two eye holes and a slit for breathing. My brother and I always stuck our tongues through the hole. I recall two favorites, Cinderella and Casper the Ghost. Cinderella had blonde hair ( I did not) and perfect peach complexion ( no freckles) , and a crown. She was perfect. Casper was friendly. Good enough for me.

I can still remember the feel of the elastic on the back of your head as you donned the mask. It was exquisite to become someone else. The mask was unique as you went between houses and it became sweaty inside, you could slide it up as if it was a hat. Multitasking even then.   For me the actual costume portion was less important, it was a gown or pants you slipped on over your warm clothes and it tied at the neck, standard fare.

And Halloween was a whole day at school, a party to anticipate and the grandest tradition the Halloween parade. You put on your costume and “paraded” through the other classrooms. All to receive oohs and aahs and fool them all, they couldn’t possible know it was you behind the costume.

Finally the big event, trick or treating. In your costume with orange plastic pumpkin in hand off you go. The street is filled with the song of “Trick or Treat” with an occasional “smell my feet” by the more rowdy ones. It was a simple joyful time.

You brought your candy haul home and dumped it on the floor and the trading began between siblings and always looking for the full size candy bar. Those were never traded.

After the big night, the candy slowly disappeared some in our bellies and some in lunches and then the rest disappeared. Wise parents know when enough is enough.

I still love Halloween, and over the years I have donned a few costumes, a roaring 20’s flapper, a clown, a witch and one year …..Clint Eastwood.

I hope you find the perfect costume for your Halloween and embrace the fun of being someone else for a couple of hours.

I know I will.


Until Next Time,


Cubicle Lives

Everyday as I begin my morning commute  to Iowa city, I pass by Longview apartments. Longview Apartments have long been a favorite of mine. They are stoic in the quiet morning. Standing on the corner as a silent castle, a protector of the park that resides directly across the street.  Aptly named Longview Park. They sit on top of a hill and from the 3rd floor you can see the entire area. The golden bricks that makeup the exterior of the complex, shimmer in the morning light. The two sides of the complex meet in the front and form a u shape building with a green courtyard safely ensconced between the two sets of condos. It stand three stories high and you can almost see the tenants by looking at the windows and the quaint back porches. Oh that one is a reader, that one loves plants, she is a hippy with her peace sign dangling or maybe the couple on the second floor are struggling musicians can often be head drifting across the crisp night air.

As I sit at the traffic light waiting for my turn to proceed, I often look up at the top floor and the there is one condo, (that’s what they call them these days) that always has it’s lights on when I pass by. No curtains in the room facing the street, just what appears to be a bare lightbulb shining like a beacon in the dark hours of morning.

I often wonder about the inhabitants of the cubicles of life, and why does that light burn so early in the morning? Is the owner a insomniac or just an early riser like me., enjoying the quiet of the building early in the morning, or a vibrant widow who rises early for a run, perhaps a dog needs to be walked and just enjoys the silent street so early in the morning. I like to imagine that they love Longview as much as I do.

As I scan the building I notice a first floor apartment with sheer curtains and the distinct flicker of a TV is seen behind. Are they watching the news while getting ready for work? Or does it simply run all the time for company as the silence is too much?

I once was shown a condo in the building it was a garden apartment, huge. As I walked in I instantly fell in love with the quirkiness of the place. The hardwood floors were original and showing wear, it had three bedrooms a kitchen a living room and a bath. The master bedroom was enormous. It actually had a stage, at least that’s what it looked like to me. I instantly visualized a chaise lounge with a fabulous reading light arching over the chaise. A small bit of heaven in my room. Laying on that chaise with a book could transport me anywhere. The bathroom had these fabulous tile floors, the small octagon ones that fit into a pattern, original fixtures including a claw foot tub. Yes it needed some work but it had possibilities, it just needed love.

I didn’t purchase but it fed my love of this old building and the stories housed inside its walls, I wish I knew them all.

It’s a grand pause every morning to stop at that corner and to look up and wonder about the cubicle life.  Each owner in their own unique cubicle, it’s own retreat from the outside life, a safe haven from the world. I respect the silence of the old building and it’s majesty.

It has stood through time and continues to watch over the corner as the silent sentry, steadfast and never sleeping.

Until Next Time,