From Cornfields to Cyberspace
If you look across the street from where my Dad’s office was on North Marion Avenue in Washington, Iowa, you will see the office building that houses the staff of The Washington Evening Journal.
It was early in the morning when Sven Svensen entered the Sistine Chapel to clean the floor.
Sven at Work: A Christmas Tale
Sven bar Sven swept the wood floors of Bethlehem’s Hanukah Inn, trying to keep pace with the flood of people who had returned to their hometown for the Census.
Big D was the nephew of one of the founders of a company I worked for in the Sacramento area. He had just graduated with a BSEE from Texas A & M and, like a typical 22 year-old Aggie he knew everything about everything, or so he thought. He may have understood a little something […]
The Sand Sailer
The autumn had been long and dry. The winds had rushed in from the South, parching the only arable land, leaving a scant harvest. But it would do. The food would last until early summer; and, with a little extra work in the spring, they would survive.
. . . Mr. Tweedledum? Here. Ms. Verbose? Here. Mr. Zeus? Here.
When He Was Young
When he was young,He’d dreamOf fair ones fewWith far felt mindsAnd locks of sunlight’s dew.
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