Mortars!

When we were kids, our houses backed up to each other. his back yard to mine. We ran back and forth between adjacent garages on a smooth dirt path. At night, with bare feet, we squished fat slugs between our toes when they were too slow to escape our scamper. They were always too slow. We sang in the Episcopal church choir three nights a week and on Sundays, driven to and from by one of our mothers, and then later by my older brother. He used mom’s VW bug for the chauffeur duties. On the way home, we opened the sunroof and took turns with my CO2 BB gun, methodically taking out streetlights for blocks around.

We should all be in jail.

David got his architecture degree from Ohio University in Athens. I spent a little over five minutes in grad school there. Mostly I studied my new wife who now, 40 years later I still study.  I generally have no clue as to how she works, but I’m no quitter.

We lived in Chauncey, a little town outside of Athens that had been dying a slow death since the last coal mine disaster had put a period to the end of the local coal industry. That's when David decided to build a big house in the woods along with other artists and architects living in root cellars and half finished homes..

None of us were very traditional about anything. 

David recently sent me this note, reminiscing about the first foundation pour at his place. Although I don’t remember the cement bath I took, I sure remember the mortars.