Remember me for these days, not the old ones.

This is a story about a family and, as there is a ghost involved, you might cal it a ghost story. But every family is a ghost story. The dead sit at out tables long after they have gone.

But our eyes are different, what you see ain't what I see.

once we began to chime the hour, we lost the ability to be satisfied

I believe that you live on inside the hearts and minds of everyone you've touched while you were here on earth.

He almost told her everything right then, that very moment. But you grab a moment, or you let it pass. He let it pass.

For years I wrote in my basement. More recently I graduated to one floor above, an office with all my books and music and - ta da! - a window.