The sorting facility I worked in was barely heated and poorly lit.
The Cave
A Winter Evening
Mixed precipitation in coastal New England means that the rain changes from rain to freezing rain to snow and back again. Oh, Joy!
Specialty work
I have a protocol for handling people with outrageous projects and complex designs. It's all cash upfront, paid design time at a high rate, and all change orders in writing. It wasn't that I was out to fleece my customers; it was to render moot speculative projects that would never go anywhere.
The Winter Garden
Last evening a friend sent me a message, "saving some of those tomato seeds for you." My mind rushed ahead to the beginning of March. Flats of seedlings under lights in the greenhouse and watching the garden beds reappear as the snow melts
Footloose
At a certain period of my life, I was a known peripatetic -cosmopolitan brother of the road, nomad, itinerant, and just plain unsettled. I was told by several willowy slender beauties that my inconstancy of abode was a significant issue in forming and maintaining relationships.
Focus
I have to be careful this time of year. It is neither prudent nor provident to allow myself to become fixated on one thing. Winter has a lot to do with this. January is my usual month to sit in the office, cogitate, plan, imagine, and create new fancies from whole cloth.
Assumptions
Have you ever been asked, “What do people incorrectly assume about you?” in a job interview? I have fought back the urge to admit that they have wrongly assumed I am a demi-god while the gods merely bless me.
Jug
was preparing to take out the recycle bin when this "dead soldier" caught my eye. The bottle is an empty jug of spiced rum that powered my don't drink and then drive fruitcake. Momentarily I was transported to my early days. I took the cap off and began blowing an accompaniment to Washington at Valley Forge, a perennial favorite of 1960's jug bands.
Weeds
A few years ago, I had the temerity to "weed" my library. So out went books I'd never need again. Books on marlinspike, carving, painting, fiction, and magazines went.
Old Head
You only get one clean slate. That's when you are a kid. After that, you can scrub at it, but it'll always be a sort of palimpsest, with bits of the old layers faintly showing from below.
Louis N. Carreras, Woodcarver 
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