Yesterday I was reminded why I enjoy working as a newspaper reporter.
A call came into the newsroom from a woman asking the editor if he would be willing to send someone to take a picture of a snowman her family built.
It wasn’t just any snowman, she told the editor, and it was 15 feet tall. I was sent because our photographer was busy.
The house is in Lorain, in a part of town known for crime. A woman once called in and told me she had been keeping a log of all the arson cases and drug activity on her block.
I’m not much of a dreamer but lately I have been having the most vivid dreams about my old dog Gypsy.
It is quite obvious that I let this blog go by the wayside for the past few months.
There may be a reason I haven’t been writing on here — it’s likely the same reason writing has been a sporadic activity for me since the time I decided to pursue it.
When that time was is hard to say.
You’re witnessing the process that goes into transcribing thoughts to – - – - well I can’t say paper, so I guess I am transcribing some type of code converted into alphabetical characters by someone in a remote location who operates this particular area of cyberspace.
The humidity is something I missed while I was away.
What isn’t to like about Ohio air quality and temperatures that make it difficult for sweat to cool the body?
And who doesn’t love how humid days can make one side of a person’s underwear creep up their leg throughout the day?
Why is it that everyone in Cleveland seems to jaywalk?
Not a day goes by where I don’t encounter an instance of someone stepping off the curb right when I drive past them.