Category Archives: Ideas

Lighting the World with Books

ReStore in Austin, Texas

All those light switches. I spotted them as soon as I opened the trashcan next to the garage. Painters were sprucing up walls inside my house, and the trim was now white. These switches were ivory. The electricians had just thrown them away when they installed the new ones.

“Surely someone else can use them,” I thought.

So in I crawled to rescue eighteen switches—plus eleven outlets, twenty-five coverplates, and one doorbell. I added shutters taken off kitchen windows and loaded the box in my car. Then I drove over to Habitat for Humanity’s ReStore.

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The Austin, Texas, location was the first of its kind when it opened twenty-two years ago, creating a place that accepts donations of new and gently used building materials to sell to the community at affordable prices. The earnings support Habitat’s homeownership programs. Their website notes “the best part of the ReStore is the thrill of discovery—one never knows what one might find!”

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As I handed over my gently used switches, a light came on in my head as I realized the connection to reading: That thrill of discovery is exactly what happens whenever I open a new book. And here I was, a veteran Giver preparing for her third World Book Night, looking for a location to hand out Peter Heller’s novel, The Dog Stars.

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This poignant story follows survivors of a flu pandemic on a postapocalyptic earth as they rummage for resources to survive. And the protagonist, a former writer named Hig, used to build houses. Yes, ReStore seemed like the perfect venue for this tale.

When the Giver books arrived at my pickup location, BookPeople, I went in for my box, filled with twenty copies of The Dog Stars. A week later, when World Book Night finally arrived on April 23, 2014, I took my Giver box over to ReStore to see if I could locate new or light readers to interest them in trying a book I’d enjoyed myself.

First I obtained approval from the floor supervisor, who also directed me to get an okay from the woman who handled the cash in a hut by the door. She seemed intrigued by the World Book Night idea, yet answered “No” when I asked if she read much. I showed her a copy of The Dog Stars and told her a bit about the saga. Then I held the paperback out to her.

“Would you like to read it? See if you like it?”

With a big grin, she quickly extended her hand back to meet mine, and became my first recipient.

Then I wandered around the huge old building that used to be a former laundry-processing facility.  photo 4a

I had some great conversations about books with folks who were sorting through the bins of nuts and bolts. If people said they already loved to read, I praised them and confided, “I do, too!” Then I handed them bookmarks with the World Book Night logo and URL, encouraging them to apply as Givers in 2015.

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A woman and her son mulling over faucet selections looked up mystified when I asked them if they liked to read, but accepted a book each (albeit quizzically). Two young women perusing the lighting choices giggled, looked at one another, and then stuck out their hands simultaneously to take books. A husband-and-wife team breezed by like two arrows swiftly winging their way to the window section on an unwavering quest. They stopped short to hear me out though.

“Oh, I read,” she grinned, “but he doesn’t.” She tilted her thumb toward her spouse, who sputtered, realizing he’d been outed. He accepted a book, muttering, “Oh, okay, I’ll read it.”

A woman walked up out of curiosity, trailed reluctantly by a teenage daughter in Gothic attire. I explained World Book Night, and the mother said she loved books. I asked her bored daughter if she liked to read.

“Not really.”

After I described the plot of Heller’s story, the girl looked helplessly at her mother, rolling her eyes.

“Will I like it?” she groaned.

“You won’t know until you read it,” the mother replied neutrally.

“It’s dystopian,” I added, thinking that might appeal to her.

The daughter thrust out a hand in exasperation for a copy. I wondered if she’d ever gone fishing, like Hig did in The Dog Stars when he felt troubled.

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My book supply was shrinking, and so was the number of shoppers. I peeked into the plumbing section and spotted a tall lanky man in blue overalls, with a denim cap pulled way down on his forehead.

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“Excuse me, sir,” I said as I approached him, “do you like to read?”

“Now why would you ask me a question like that?” he countered, slightly irritated. He pulled his cap as low as it would go over his eyes and ducked his head, starting to turn away.

Remaining steadfast in my mission, I quietly began to tell this plumber about World Book Night. He seemed uncomfortable, but paused. I smiled and started spinning the book’s plot—how just a handful of people in the world endured after a massive influenza mutation nine years earlier, how they had to numb their emotions just to keep going, how Hig flew his small plane to salvage dwindling supplies (like we see here at ReStore, I gestured), how a crusty old man named Bangley became Hig’s only companion until, one day, they think they hear a radio transmission indicating other survivors might be out there. Then I added that I’d really enjoyed The Dog Stars. I’d laughed, I’d cried, I’d kept turning the pages to find out what was going to happen next.

As I spoke softly, the man’s body language began to relax. Yet he still gave the impression of being hesitant, shifting his weight from foot to foot in a shuffling dance. Finally he settled down, appearing to have reached a weighty decision. He peeked at me from under his cap brim, head lowered.

“I’m going to make you a promise,” he said with deep conviction, pointing his finger at me for emphasis, “because of something you just said. I promise you I’m going to read this book because you said you enjoyed it. My wife’s the reader. I’m not. But we have two young girls. We keep telling them to read because we want the very best for them. They keep saying, ‘But YOU don’t read.’ So now I’m going to go home and read so they can see me doing it and know I think it’s important.”

Bowing slightly, I presented the book to him on two outstretched hands, as one might offer a gift of great worth. He took the novel and cradled the book against his chest, looking down at it for a long moment. I misted up.

“I’m really glad you’re going to read,” I whispered.

That’s why I love World Book Night so much. I can sense the collective energy of my fellow Givers (25,000 of them) as we pass out half a million new books to reluctant readers each year.

That’s 500,000 light switches going on in minds all across the USA—not even counting all the other countries around the globe. What a grand way to celebrate Shakespeare’s birthday!

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World Book Night 2013

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BOOK ME FOR 2014!

I got hooked on World Book Night (WBN) when it began in the United States last year. Women’s Memoirs invited me to write up my experience afterward. I had so much fun in 2012 that I reapplied to be a Giver  this year. As a passionate reader, I was once again intrigued by the challenge of unearthing folks who just didn’t read much.

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I live in Austin, Texas, so I selected the same local independent bookstore as last year — BookPeople: A Community Bound by Books — as my pickup spot for a box of specially printed books. When they arrived, BookPeople held a party for all the Givers, replete with jazz band, buffet, drinks, and mingling.

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BookPeople had extra boxes of books, so I volunteered to locate twenty-three additional passionate readers before April 23 to be Givers. That mission turned out to be as exciting as finding people who didn’t read. Then I sat down to ponder where I might come across those fringe readers.

Hmmm…

Have you ever plunked down on a bus-stop bench at the end of a long day — tired, hungry, cold — ready to head home as a chill wind started to blow? If this is your normal daily route, reading may not be high on your To Do list. What if someone walked up and handed you a book,  out of the blue, and said, “Hey, it’s World Book Night! Do you enjoy reading? I sure do, and I’ve got a great book for you that I loved.”

Would your spirits lift? Might your curiosity cause you to crack the spine and read at least a word or two…or three…or maybe four? Even, perhaps, contemplate reading more books because the story was so good? Creating that scenario was my ardent hope.

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Of the thirty title choices for this year’s World Book Night, I’d selected Girl With a Pearl Earring by Tracy Chevalier to hand out. I’d really liked this story about a sixteen-year-old in Holland who crosses paths with one of the greatest Dutch artists — Johannes Vermeer. He painted scenes of everyday life around him in the 1600s. Chevalier imagined a story behind one of Vermeer’s most famous paintings, creating a fictional young woman named Griet to inspire the portrait and narrate the tale (later made into a movie).

When I visited one of my daughters on her Fulbright year in the Netherlands, we walked around the lovely city of Delft, where Vermeer had lived. Chevalier’s story, set in the seventeenth century, almost came alive for me there in the town square. DSCN0946

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I sat in a recreated version of the painter’s studio at the Vermeer Centrum Delft. Vermeer’s famous Pearl Earring painting hangs in the Mauritshuis gallery in The Hague. The book’s themes explore beauty, art, marriage, and love. The story underscores the idea that money of one’s own can empower a woman and create a feeling of independence — even if it can’t be spent.

So on World Book Night, I took this story of everyday life in another country, in another time, and headed out to a setting of everyday life  in my own city today — the bus stop.

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I drove my car so I could cover a cross-section of routes quickly during rush hour, catching about ten people at the first stop. Initially, a young woman looked quizzical, but then took a copy as I explained the idea. I offered one to the young man next to her. “Oh, we can share,” he told me. “We’re together.” His girlfriend already had the book open, and he leaned over her shoulder to read along.

About six high schoolers lined the wall behind them, one  appointing himself spokesperson for the entire group. “No, they don’t want any,” he told me in an authoritative voice, “but I’ll take one.” I handed him a book. Then I offered one to a girl in the crowd, who looked unsure until the spokesperson announced loudly amid snickers, “No, she can’t have one.” Her compliant stance in the wake of peer pressure sent me the clear but disappointing message that she would not be reading this story of empowerment that day.

Two other boys of high-school age, dressed in clothes several sizes too large for their bodies, stood aloof from the crowd. Ignoring the sardonic expressions on their faces, I walked over to ask them if they liked to read. Silently they shrugged their replies, but accepted a book photo-180each. As I walked back to the car, I saw they were both scanning the list of thirty WBN titles on the back cover. Well, that’s a start, I thought.

At my next stop, two young men were just getting off a bus.

“Do you like to read?”

“Yeah, I guess,” one replied. “Sort of,” the other one said. They each accepted a book in a noncommittal manner, and then crossed the street to await a bus from a different route. Later, when I passed through the intersection again, I noticed one of them sitting on the bench reading — Girl With a Pearl Earring. Yes!

I headed north, and spotted two middle-aged women chatting at a bus stop — one seated, one standing. I greeted them, explaining the WBN idea. Wary at first, one said she didn’t have time to read much. She asked me what the book was about. I told her, adding that I’d really enjoyed it myself. At that, they each stretched out a hand and then beamed down at the books they now owned. A third woman they seemed to know trudged up, her paraphernalia in a tote sack.

“She’s got a book for you!” one of the other ladies called to her excitedly. They pointed to the copy I proffered, which she finally accepted with raised eyebrow. All three seemed shocked at the mere act of kindness at the end of a long day, while thanking me over and over and over again as I left.

At my next stop, I found a man in a black t-shirt who was missing a couple teeth. He stood by another weathered man seated in a wheelchair. Standing Man grinned from ear to ear when I told him about World Book Night, eagerly grasping the book I tendered and quickly hugging it to his chest. Seated Man told me, “Thank you, but I’m blind. I wouldn’t be able to see it.” Standing Man patted his shoulder, saying: “I’ll read it to you.” Indeed, as I walked back to the car, I could hear the opening lines of Girl With a Pearl Earring rendered in a deep voice: “My mother did not tell me they were coming. Afterwards she said she did not want me to appear nervous.” I glanced back to see Seated Man listening intently.

Two young women got off a bus at another stop, viewing me in astonishment when I gave them each a book.  They looked down at their volumes with uncertain delight. Simultaneously they turned to chorus, “Thank you so much!!!”

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Another stop:

A burly man in a camouflage jacket, sitting apart from two young women. The trio said they didn’t read a lot but, curious about the book, each took a copy. Burly Man stuffed his in a backpack, but the two women curled the front covers around the spines and began reading. photo-177

An incoming cold front had picked up by the time I arrived at the next bench, where a man in a short-sleeved New York Mets t-shirt was rubbing his arms to keep warm. I hesitated, thinking he probably wouldn’t want a book, but persevered. To my surprise, even though he told me he didn’t read much, he smiled delightedly, accepted a copy, and started reading it on the spot — bringing to mind Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn’s Ivan Denisovich: “How can you expect a man who’s warm to understand one who’s cold?”

The next duo couldn’t have been more excited, thanking me profusely. I had five copies of Montana Sky by Nora Roberts that another Giver had passed on to me, so I gave each person a different title. “Then we can trade when we finish,” the guy quietly suggested to the girl, who nodded at the wisdom of that approach.

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Bus riders zeroed out after people got home for supper. I still had three books left, so I headed over to a hospital emergency room. One woman rushing in from the parking garage after dropping off her husband loved the idea, and joyfully accepted a book. In the ER waiting room sat a lone man in a disheveled state, who looked up through tired eyes at the book I presented, then held out his hand and said, “Sure.” He started reading immediately.

I had one book left with no one else in sight. I stood there, wondering if the guard could read on duty. Suddenly the doors to the treatment area swung open and a woman in a flowered dress inched her way out — moving very slowly and painfully, looking quite sad, clutching checkout papers in one hand. No one awaited her.

“Excuse me,” I said. “It’s World Book Night. May I give you a book to read?” I held out my last copy, just as I noticed one of her eyes was as black as night in a perfect round circle. I caught my breath as I realized that must be what’s called a “shiner.” I began to put together in my mind a rather dismal scenario of what might have caused it. As I considered retreating, the tiniest smile began to emerge at the corners of her mouth — just barely, only a couple millimeters. Tears formed in her downcast eyes as she summoned all the resources of energy remaining within her to claim the book. My heart had goosebumps. I sensed that book offer was the best event in her day. My brief glimpse of silent gratitude in her eyes as she peeked up was an eloquent note on which to end World Book Night for me.

How did I do? I distributed one box of twenty books, plus five surplus volumes from another Giver. These are not used books. They are brand-new special paperback editions donated by the publishers, printers, authors, and distributors. I also recruited twenty-three Givers to take twenty-three boxes of twenty books each out into the community — that’s 460 books. We were just a drop in the bucket though. There were far more Givers than that — 25,000 across the entire country. Last year, more than 2.5 million books were given out around the world.  For my part, I’m proud of the twenty-five people I reached who don’t regularly read but decided to give it a try.

Here’s what BookPeople wrote on their blog afterward:

We want to extend a very special hug to Lanie, our WBN 2013 hero who volunteered to take on over 20 boxes of books and who recruited friends as givers. Here’s her experience yesterday:

“I’ve got folks handing out books at several hospitals, a jail, a dispute resolution center, a church food pantry, a hospice, several schools, city buses, Goodwill, a bar (for TENDER BAR), work, neighborhoods, street corners…just makes my heart swell!”

Without a doubt, these Givers were all heroes as agents of change. Just as I did, they located adult nonreaders from all walks of life  — in a wide array of ages, genders, cultures, education, and skin colors. I could tell from feedback that  other Givers had also been moved by their experiences.

One Giver, who had chosen a church assistance program as her venue, emailed me afterward: “Many of our clients are homeless, many are recently released from jail or prison, but most are living on the edge of poverty and need help with bills. The books went like hotcakes!”

Another noted, however: “It was harder to give away the books than I expected. I guess some people can’t really believe that something is absolutely free, no strings attached. [We] did manage to find people interested in reading more. It was fun!”

Several Givers handed them to servers and customers at burger restaurants. Another went to a large parking lot by a “big box” store in search of “a good cross-section of people.”

One wrote: “We had fun! I’d be happy to do it again next year.”

And so would I! As an editor and writer, words are my coin of the realm. Because they come easily to me, I feel an innate obligation to share them. I’ve volunteered for Laubach Literacy (now ProLiteracy) and Reading for the Blind (now Learning Ally), taught English as a foreign language (TOEFL) in the Western Caroline Islands, edited academic papers for nonnative speakers of English, and developed questions for a computerized grammar, spelling, and punctuation self-teaching program. I believe that reading holds a key to our survival through offering us a means to understand our differences. By “trying on” other ways of life through the tales told in books, we can visualize ourselves as others. Stories capture our imagination when we are worn down from the vicissitudes of life.  Such narrative accounts of events, whether fiction or nonfiction, transport us for a moment to combat loneliness and connect us to imaginary worlds peopled by others. A friend who is a philosophy professor once commented to me, “A tale well told is always worth reading.”

The National Endowment for the Arts (NEA) has issued several reports on attempts to measure how much we as a society read literature, and initiated The Big Read as another approach. Currently “77 communities are encouraging literary reading” through this program. The most recent NEA report on reading from 2009, titled Reading on the Rise, noted “a tale of two Americas.” This tale called our attention to the fact that even though reading appeared to be on the rise, “The U.S. population now breaks into two almost equally sized groups – readers and non-readers.” Why would it be valuable for a civilization to read literature — for adult readers to reach out to nonreaders? “Reading is an important indicator of positive individual and social behavior patterns,” according to the report. “Previous NEA research has shown that literary readers volunteer, attend arts and sports events, do outdoor activities, and exercise at higher rates than non-readers.”

World Book Night seems to me one of the purest examples of how to change society for the better through social interaction. Not everyone in our country, let alone the world, can access stories through technology. World Book Night offers a way to bestow upon them  the power to imagine  other lives by reading, through the mere placement of a book in an outstretched hand. Perhaps, as Tennessee Williams suggested, we all depend on the kindness of strangers.

Yet there are no data to measure the effect of World Book Night.  Showing how “narrative organizes the structure of human experience—how, in a word, ‘life’ comes to imitate ‘art’ and vice versa”—is a “daunting task,” according to psychologist Jerome Bruner in Acts of Meaning.  World Book Night appears to be up to the challenge to me, however. It seems representative of solid research about the effects of social interaction, the diffusion of ideas, and attitude change. Can a fringe reader become hooked on books? World Book Night sure thinks so. And I do, too.

In a weary world replete with dark woes, stories can still light a primordial fire around which we can gather to contemplate our common humanity. Connections keep us centered on our planet, grounded in the certainty that we’re here together.

We’re all just simply trying to keep warm.

Lanie Tankard as drawn by a daughter

Lanie Tankard as drawn by a daughter

Sign up on the World Book Night website to be notified when you can apply to be a Giver in your town on April 23, 2014!

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Beginnings

“Even though NASA tries to simulate launch, and we practice in simulators, it’s not the same — it’s not even close to the same.”

Sally Ride

I began motherhood as a beginner — a raw neophyte not at all ready for the tiny bundle who sprang into the world in a grand jeté three weeks early. So much yet to do…so much still to prepare.

Yes, I’d been practicing my Lamaze breathing in preparation for the launch, but how did one simulate nurture — those years following the birth?  I was definitely not ready. The nursery wasn’t exactly bare though, mind you. Friends had given us a baby shower, so an avalanche of footed onesies and crocheted blankies eagerly awaited a tiny being to cover. Yet there were all those finishing touches I had planned, those welcoming decorations I’d wanted to have in place.

And then there were the mental preparations, the readying of my mind for motherhood, that segue from woman to mother. But wait, becoming a mother didn’t mean I’d no longer be a woman. Sigh. What, exactly, did it mean? These were the types of deep thoughts I had needed to ponder, organizing them in the files of my scattered brain so I could appear competent to my offspring, not to mention the world. No, I simply wasn’t ready. Only later did I truly understand the wisdom in that childhood Hide n’ Seek chant: “Ready or not, here I come!”

Now, through the long lens of retrospect, I see what I was naively searching for then — control. As I’ve since learned, that’s one thing motherhood doesn’t allow — control over either one’s own life or the new life just entrusted at birth. Oddly, that turns out to be a wise safety mechanism for both.

On the first day that my husband returned to work, after we had brought our newborn home from the hospital, panic arose within me. Looking over at my daughter’s sleeping form, I felt a frantic longing for the presence of my own mother three states away to mother me, to stand at my side telling me what to do.

I cried mightily, hormones careening wildly around my body desperately seeking equilibrium. Then I realized I’d have to step up to the plate and pick up the bat. There wasn’t another soul in sight. For she was stirring now, this helpless little individual, opening her eyes.

We looked at one another. Her small face and mine drew close together. Then she seemed to smile, even though research clearly states that first smiles, real social smiles, do not occur before two or three months. Still, a slight tilt of the lips combined with a twinkle in her eye (call it a glint of the sun if you must) surely resembled a smile to me.

At that moment, I knew I had already begun as a mother, she had begun as a daughter, and we would figure out the road ahead together. Over the next few years, her two sisters arrived to help us. The Tankard Ladies launched me as a mother. Then my firstborn handed me a new role as a grandmother. And that one needed absolutely no simulation. I launched right into it the minute that warm little bundle reached my waiting arms.

Who knew life could become even richer?

Copyright 2012 by Elaine F. Tankard

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The Steps

Then up the ladder of the earth I climbed

through the barbed jungle’s thickets

until I reached you Macchu Picchu.

Pablo Neruda

The Heights of Macchu Picchu

(N.B.: Neruda’s spelling of Machu Picchu)

Door to Neruda’s Wine Cellar

Santiago, Chile

There are three ways to reach the fabled Machu Picchu: by train, by bus, or by foot. And within each of those choices, there are several options.

You can take a Backpacker train, a Vistadome train with refreshments included, or the luxury Hiram Bingham train á la the Orient Express — with cocktails and fine dining, plus afternoon tea at the sanctuary lodge.

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A bus can transport you from the nearby town of Aguas Calientes, where most travelers spend the night.

“By foot” means walking the Inca Trail, either for four days camping in tents or hiking for one day.

This is the story of one of those ways. . . .

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Melancholy

 “Pick up a sesame seed but lose sight of a watermelon.”

Chinese Proverb

Selwyn Road in Cleveland Heights was my childhood haven for the first nine years of my life.  That long street shaped like an upside-down J began down at the foot of Greyton Road, almost to Noble Road. Then it rose on a hill all the way up to Monticello Boulevard, which led to Forest Hills Park where I went sledding.

I lived in the middle of the block, and Selwyn was rife with playmates all up and down the street. We’d congregate on one porch or another on hot summer days. One time it might be a Swap Meet, when each of us would bring toys, puzzles, or games we were tired of. Then the negotiations began, when we’d try to convince the person who’d brought an item we coveted that it was worth what we had to trade. Was one Mr. Potato Head game minus an ear worth the same as a set of Pick Up Stix that was short one stick? The finesse of those deals brokered in the early Fifties could serve as excellent lessons in today’s economy. Continue reading

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Beyond the Canal

“Not houses finely roofed

or the stones of walls well builded,

nay nor canals and dockyards make the city,

but men able to use their opportunity.”

—Alcaeus

I journeyed to Panama to see the canal, and ventured upriver as well. I flew to Panama City with a small University of Texas group, plus my daughter Jessica. We visited all three locks at various times — day and night. The canal never sleeps. Aboard a low vessel built for J. P. Morgan, we followed a huge container ship through Pedro Miguel Locks. At the Gaillard Cut, we crossed the Continental Divide.

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Going Out

“…we go,

Scarce knowing if we wish to go or stay,

Being too full of sleep to understand.”

Longfellow (Nature)

 

When Nature calls, we go. If we’re lucky, we go indoors.

Different antiquities vie for the claim to the first flush toilet several thousand years ago. King Minos of Crete had one in the Knossos Palace, and another was discovered in the tomb of a Chinese king in Shangqui county in the central province of Hunan.

We had two flush toilets in the house where I grew up in Cleveland, Ohio — one on the second floor right across the hall from my bedroom, and another down in the basement. One day, I was playing in our basement when Nature rang. I knew even at the tender age of three or so that I wouldn’t be able to make it up two flights of stairs in time. The gleaming white porcelain toilet just inside the open door to my father’s office in that subterranean world beckoned to me. Taking advantage of its proximity, I hustled over. Continue reading

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