tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-43189996563336341742012-01-23T00:20:39.808-05:00Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04292185040218771828noreply@blogger.comBlogger31100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318999656333634174.post-66970927853582348582012-01-23T00:20:00.003-05:002012-01-23T00:20:39.818-05:00

I got a request to appear at court. Not for something I had done, but someone else. I was one of about 300 people who showed up that day to possibly act as a juror on an upcoming trial. We sat there for about three long hours trying to keep ourselves busy before the first group of us was called upstairs. I was among that group. I was also among the 14 chosen to sit in judgment of the defendant

Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04292185040218771828noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318999656333634174.post-20547969134144895842012-01-04T23:38:00.002-05:002012-01-04T23:38:47.471-05:00

So, a friend and I got in the habit of walking around the city on lovely Fall days. Well, friend may be too strong an adjective, even though we’ve known each other for two years and have been exchanging weekly letters for the past couple months. In a lot of ways, he still feels like an acquaintance to me, which is what led to the following scene on one of our walks. “When I was at my niece and

Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04292185040218771828noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4318999656333634174.post-50452068453563464062011-12-31T11:59:00.007-05:002012-01-01T02:46:45.793-05:00

Containing sometimes fewer words than a tweet, old postcards can offer a small glimpse into a person’s life, but just enough to whet your appetite, often leaving you wanting to know more. That’s the case with the one below. In 1944, a young man, away from home, writes a short note to his mother. Being unemployed, he wants to save money, so he chooses to write on the back of a postcard as opposed

Skyehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/04292185040218771828noreply@blogger.com4