cal: 360/365

cal: 360/365

During the past year, whenever I would say to Cal that I had no idea what to write about, he would always say, “You can write about how wonderful I am.” Which of course isn’t a true thing about me. Nor is it a true thing about him. Okay, okay. Truth....
shhhh: 309/365

shhhh: 309/365

It was February of 1965. I was seven. My parents and I, and two of my sisters, had just piled into the station wagon that was parked in front of the church in Russellville, Kentucky, after my grandfather’s funeral. I was climbing over the seat into the way...