Observer

Working Waterfront

Confessions of a compulsive counter

I was largely adrift in high school. I paid little sustained attention with one intriguing exception. My English teacher was a singularly intimidating and frightful old woman named Gwendlyn Green. One of her eyes wandered endlessly afield of whatever the other, her good and functioning eye, was focused on. She… SEE MORE
Observer

Working Waterfront

My wife can’t throw a flatbar

My wife can do almost anything, really, almost anything. I mean mechanical stuff, electronic stuff, and carpentry stuff, plus all sorts of things that involve thinking, like philosophical and ethereal stuff. Further, she’s a marvelous painter and runs her own very successful gallery. She also knows (she reminds me now… SEE MORE
Observer

Working Waterfront

An apology and an explanation

I wrote a column for this, the April issue of The Working Waterfront, a column about the absence of meaningful political discourse, particularly among elected representatives, the people we expect will indulge in such deliberation on our behalf. The column contained this: “I was expected to cultivate and sustain a… SEE MORE
Observer

Working Waterfront

Living with others

Around mid-day on Friday, Aug. 15, 1986, while excavating on the shore of Carver’s Pond, a gravestone—in one piece and undamaged—was unearthed from a very unlikely spot, only a few feet from the shore, certainly far from the nearest cemetery. The stone was cleaned up and carefully set aside. It… SEE MORE