Treason of Words

This is the piece I mentioned last time; there was only a little bit more to write, and I couldn't bring myself to trash it, so here you are: The drive to improve one's habitat is somehow ingrained in members of animalia . Birds do it, bees do it, even frequently alluded-to fieldmice whose modest burrow slept ten and had a gourmet grain-hoard before it was plowed through by some jerk poet did it. Like the tim'rous beastie, my own plans for home improvement proved more challenging than I had anticipated, but not due to interference by a giant Scotsman. The chief form of entertainment in the Taylor household, aside from the sometimes laughable efforts of my wife's students, is the gradual bending of our domicile to our will. A little over a year ago, we committed to purchase the modest 3-2. One might be forgiven for missing much of our exterior efforts, as they have been few and largely subtractive. On the inside, however, it is a very different place. The third bedroom i

I find myself in the midst of a busy springtide. On Sunday, I noticed that it had been a full two months since I turned thirty, and I had yet to remark on it in any real way. Let me put it at this: the first three decades of life were more good than they were bad, particularly what I can recall of that first one (which is more than you might imagine). The second was insufferably awkward, but had its charms. The most recent was wildly uneven, comprising both the most exalted highs and profoundest lows. I'm happy to say that the third anniversary of that high streak is arriving this Wednesday; the responsible party has already received her gifts , but there shall of course be the customary dining and floral accoutrement as well. Languishing in my bin of half-written posts is a piece about how I spent my Spring Break, now that I take Spring Breaks again. This one involved a great deal of learning, dust, adhesive substances and profanity. You may see the tale here in its best form, as