All the World's a Stage

Backstory: My Life in Fur

Recently, the Medium publication C(G) SNAPSHOTS issued a challenge in which participants were invited to submit images for their Snapshot Selfie Challenge. Being the camera-phobe that I am — no, really; until recently your truly used the same avatar across all social media for almost six years (don’t judge) — I opted to submit a snapshot of a few mementos that signified different periods of my life. Oddly enough, one object in my snapshot that garnered a few comments was a vintage Donald Duck bobblehead from the late 1960s or early 1970s, described in the accompanying text as: symbol of my former alter-ego, vehicle of torture, and self-discovery — let’s talk about that some time.

Well … the time has come.

We all have backstories; adventures and foibles few would believe the people we are now would ever be a party to. So in the interest of mixing it up a little and unpacking one such story here. Enjoy!*

The Bigger Picture

Adventures of a Former Christmas Elf

Here’s a long and rambling yarn of Christmas cheer from a long time ago and cities far, far away . . .

The days after September 11, 2001, I sat riveted to the images on my television like the rest of the nation. The thought of flying across the country was unnerving, but when October 17 came, I boarded a plane at LAX with enough clothes to survive autumn in New York and Atlanta, and a December in Cleveland. En route to New York, I stopped in Orlando to drop off my dog, Jack, at my mother’s for a three-month vacation.

Excerpt: Walking Tall

The Novelty Effect (or Little People, Big Problems)

Everybody’s got something that they simply can not put up with.

Some people can’t ride elevators. A friend of mine will visit anyone in the hospital and traverse numerous stairwells to visit the bedridden, as long as they’re on a single digit floor. If you’re on your death-bed in a hospital above the ninth floor, you’d better make sure you’re all prayed up and have dispensed your last goodbye to that particular angel of mercy because she’s not taking an elevator or climbing up ten flights of stairs to wish you auf wieder-bye-bye.