In exactly twenty-four hours Art and I will be at the airport. At about this time I will swallow my little white pill, which will help me to get through the rest of the day. My hands and feet will probably be a little clammy. (They usually warm up when the pill kicks in). But


    GHOSTS I started writing this morning and what came out was so depressing, even I couldn’t read it. So I scrapped it. Sometimes The Dark Side beckons me. It makes me feel clever to be cynical. But it’s wrong. Cynicism serves no constructive purpose, other than the occasional perverse chuckle. I was raised in an