37 for 365

Danny

2007-01-24T03:55:00.000-08:00

“I’ve got an idea!” he shouts, and the door swings open to the world. In our house, there is no ceiling, the windows are always open-eyed, the garden blooms even under frost. Oh, love. Oh, yes.

365/365

Emily

2007-01-23T03:52:00.000-08:00

the nine year old said “You could be my mother,” as she fussed with her fresh 2nd cousin. She counted her lipglosses and played dollhouse. At eighteen, she had already taken more college courses than most graduates.

364/365

Gwynne

2007-01-22T05:19:00.000-08:00

shared this old Irish tradition - Lick your right thumb, press it into your left palm, stamp it with your right fist – when you see a white horse, of course. It’s good luck. Who doesn’t need it?

363/365

Rich

2007-01-22T05:17:00.002-08:00

carried the hereditary torch of silence well when he was younger. My cousin who wears the Hill men’s curly hair and straight white smile, warmed up during a “Monk’s Dinner” when he lost his utensil privileges for laughing.

361/365

Chris

2007-01-22T05:17:00.000-08:00

has found his happiness and livelihood baking specialty dog treats with his partner. Once, he sold antiques but he’s got a kindness core that doesn’t twig as well to furniture as it does to animals and people.

362/365

Rene

2007-01-19T05:13:00.000-08:00

taught us how to pick up small objects with our toes. Napkins, Fisher-Price people, a plastic bottlecap all lifted with ease. Next we learned how to count in Spanish. Then as quickly as she arrived, she left.

360/365

Sue

2007-01-18T04:46:00.000-08:00

couldn’t live in a tanglehussle of an American city anymore so she found her home in Ireland. She shares “Soul Friend,” as a retreat for artists. Ducks waddle, brushes swish, words flow, voices sing and wine pours.

359/365

Juan

2007-01-17T05:22:00.000-08:00

can read the back of a Kit-Kat bar and it makes women swoon. An architect of words, his poems are mosaics whose centers shine. His home is filled with a familiar color – the love of language.

358/365

Nayna

2007-01-17T05:21:00.000-08:00

eyes the four of us making puppets out of paper bags with adult concern for our sanity. Then she makes a suggestion for applying glue and the games have begun. Her face turns childlike from laughter.

357/365

Jennifer

2007-01-15T06:14:00.000-08:00

The garden of her poetry is resplendent with peonies, roses, lilacs - words that are so weighted with feeling they drop their petals into your lap and onto the floor whispering their velvety scents and textures.

356/365

Mary

2007-01-15T06:12:00.000-08:00

lives in a cottage on the edge of the strand and reads stones that stick to your feet. Tiny turquoise, rounded quartz, tiger eyes all predict the future. Her remembered advice: Don’t mess with your lower back.

355/365

John

2007-01-13T05:04:00.000-08:00

takes photographs of the patchworked Irish landscape with his dog in tow. His eyebrows wiggle like wooly caterpillars. A joker, he signed his book of images, “To Jennifer, thanks for the great time in the closet.”

354/365

Grayson

2007-01-12T04:04:00.000-08:00

cuts across the soccer field and his body is a sudden, twisted K, the toe of his shoe meeting the ball in a thwack that sails it to the goal. Friends cheer in the chilly mist.

353/365

Jim

2007-01-11T04:45:00.000-08:00

His early poetry makes all the girls swoony-swoon to the drop-beat, kick-ass hold and fold Valentino of it. He’s a swarm of words, an encyclopedia of music, and a jar of jellybeans you want to count.

352/365

Kelsey

2007-01-10T03:58:00.000-08:00

has the sort of fire in her that burns on a low flame but can be coaxed into a conflagration. A lover of images, she remembers people and places that hold her heart and understand her vision.

351/365

Aunt Polly

2007-01-09T04:17:00.000-08:00

in the photograph, she is slender and wears an eggshell satin dress, poses with two sons in pajamas. I’ve met her only a handful of times. This is how I remember, even though I probably wasn’t there.

350/365

Chet

2007-01-08T04:43:00.000-08:00

packed up his VW beetle to rest in the hush of woods with the Hill Family. A struggling actor in NYC, he raised the curtain to the arts with jigs and stories. Whiskey appeared behind our encyclopedias.

349/365

Abigail

2007-01-07T05:21:00.000-08:00

once shut a child in an oven. Away went her family, so she closeted herself until a daughter returned to care. She was a diabetic doll with two faces. She accused, sliced cheese, spewed vitriol, folded laundry.

348/365

Uncle Dick

2007-01-06T08:10:00.000-08:00

drawls my name over the phone, “Heyah, Jeahnee.” He’s my father’s elbow twin, which I didn’t notice until Dad was gone. Refurbishing cars, trimmed lawns, golf games and keeping the conversation short and light are his way.

347/365

Bergie

2007-01-05T04:27:00.000-08:00

Judges and corrupt politicians form in his hands, or his thumb presses a sleeping face into a clay leaf. Home is chock-a-block with art he loves – watercolors, sculptures, auction treasures. Skeezix meows from inside a wooden box.

346/365

Ben

2007-01-04T04:34:00.000-08:00

I say, “I smell pot in the girl’s bathroom.” He says, “Well, someone’s happy.” His beard and short stature make him gnome-like, but some of his sculptures take up entire rooms. The rest cradle in your palm.

345/365

David

2007-01-03T04:27:00.000-08:00

sheaves through a box of work on paper – erratic elongated figures with giant eyes, delicate watercolor backgrounds that he has inked. We view hundreds of pieces when he says, “This one’s older. Two years. When I started.”

344/365

Ben

2007-01-02T12:58:00.000-08:00

was a biter-puncher-kicker. The youngest (and only boy) child of a Girl Scouting family, he’d Mack truck his way toward his victim and time just blurred like a Nebraska highway. Talking didn’t help. Growing up did.

342/365

Janet

2007-01-02T12:57:00.000-08:00

studied dance with Twyla Tharp and now it shows in the fearless brushstrokes of her paintings. She watches movement, and once spent a morning meeting drawing my sandaled foot as it nodded, passing time.

341/365

Anthony

2006-12-31T04:07:00.001-08:00

was in real estate. Tall and wiry with an unmistakably Italian last name, he made everyone feel that he was their best friend and they’d get a good deal. Even his business card bore a heart.

340/365

Michael

2006-12-31T04:07:00.000-08:00

ran a business called the PEOPLE Association. It stood for Progressive Enthusiastic Optimistic People Learning Excellence. They took bus trips. He wanted to make energetic friends. Maybe the name was just too adjective heavy to work?

339/365

Jim

2006-12-29T05:00:00.001-08:00

wasn’t small, and everything he did was big. Thick black hair ruffled in the wind on his way to sales calls on his motorcycle. His laugh boomed plaid. He liked hard rock, bad food and good people.

338/365

Dave

2006-12-29T05:00:00.000-08:00

owned his father’s business, which he renamed. On an afternoon business lunch, he stopped and held his hands hovered over mine, with his eyes squeezed shut. “Feel that? That’s pure energy.” I think my lentil soup giggled.

337/365

Torsten

2006-12-27T04:44:00.000-08:00

is the only person I know with that name. First we played with Fisher-Price fire trucks, then I birthed a plastic baby for him. Red-headed and strong-willed, “T” became a motocross competitor, a businessman, a real dad.

336/365

Bob

2006-12-27T04:42:00.000-08:00

spends less on groceries than anyone I know. In fact, I think the Piggly Wiggly has owed him money on a few trips. A determined coupon clipper, exerciser, life-liver - he doesn’t just hang in there, he champions.

335/365

Howard

2006-12-26T05:48:00.000-08:00

Guinea pigs are free ranging on his suburban farm of goats, a clutch of named chickens, two ducks, five dogs and two cats. A paradise for the wayward where everyone gets along. A tender of tiny hearts.

334/365

Mary

2006-12-25T06:05:00.000-08:00

was mother hen of the Genetti’s restaurant waitresses in the 1970’s. Her ample figure bobbed between tables like a bubble. On Christmas, she teased me by singing “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.”

333/365

Franz

2006-12-23T05:12:00.000-08:00

was a brash stroke of black paint against a white canvas, I was a frail, fine line. Ah, but I had the upperhand in living. I (shared) doughnuts with him every Sunday at his overgrown grave.

332/365

* Franz Kline is buried in the Wilkes-Barre cemetary.

Andy

2006-12-22T05:33:00.000-08:00

mopped hallway floors until I was halfway through directing the play. The cafegymatorium had no sound or lighting. He appeared one day with tech experience, mics and the key to the soda machine. Go secret identities!

331/365

Aunt Faye

2006-12-21T04:07:00.000-08:00

had a Marilyn Monroe aesthetic with a Dolly Parton effect – big hair, eyelids that sparkled, costume jewelry. I marvelled around her when she took us to see a show at the Riverfront dinner theatre in Jersey.

330/365

Douglas

2006-12-20T04:36:00.000-08:00

spends the evening crouched in the studio taking photographs of readers, the decor, the reflection of neon against the window. He’s got a good eye for composition and color. His stutter shutters off into shy light.

329/365

Alicia

2006-12-19T04:37:00.000-08:00

is the only woman I know who can make a housecoat look glamorous. Her kids are first, work and personal life - second. The “seconds” get enough attention to appear as if they rank first. That’s fierce control.

328/365

Maureen

2006-12-18T04:16:00.000-08:00

was the child that sang into a tape recorder and coaxed her stuffed animals into line memorization. The adult interviews the elderly, writes out their lives and conjures a theatrical experience that sweeps you up in history.

327/365

Catherine

2006-12-17T05:18:00.000-08:00

is the book you want to fall into the hands of your child. Her preface captivates, and her story lures the reader in and inspires. She is by turns how-to reference, novel, drama, comic and spiritual guidebook.

326/365

Timmy

2006-12-16T06:43:00.000-08:00

was often lit, which made it difficult to tell who you were talking to exactly and what he would do next. A firework hot potato game, his characters strobed with color. His life ignited, spark-crashed too soon.

325/365

Mary

2006-12-15T04:03:00.000-08:00

holds her dead husband’s memory true as starlight. When a Down’s child joined the family, she never left his side and cared for him with quilt-like comfort. Gibran’s wisdom on children and tempera paintings graced her refrigerator.

324/365

Erika

2006-12-14T04:10:00.000-08:00

walks towards you with her arms out. She’s passionate about the arts, pointed with questions, keeps her facts straight, recognizes metallic and wooden sounding word combinations, and is totally beloved. You fall into her smiling embrace.

323/365

Jerry

2006-12-13T04:08:00.000-08:00

loves jazz and his pad is jumpin' in the blue whirls of it every year. A barn burner! A lawyer by trade and a poet because words are his instruments, his shelves wail with well-thumbed, margin-scribbled books.

322/365

Rondo

2006-12-12T04:01:00.000-08:00

knows what the sky is saying, wears peace on a baseball cap, button or t-shirt, and has been organizing poetry events since forever. Where are his poems? I’ve heard him read his own only once or twice.

321/365

Barb

2006-12-11T04:15:00.000-08:00

writes poems that make you say, “Damn I wish I’d written that.” Her words stomp across the field, strike a match, soak the wood in gasoline and set the whole barn ablaze. Damn I wish I’d written that.

320/365

Pampal

2006-12-11T03:59:00.002-08:00

had a squirrel-fun intelligence, a clock radio that winked off minutes like an owl, a penchant for warm cereals, and was the first person to show me how to really see. See that? Letters are pictures.

319/365

Toni

2006-12-11T03:59:00.001-08:00

believes, has faith, folds napkins and tablecloths so no edges peek out. Her house is dustless and her favorite flower is chicory. Two sons, three grandchildren, a husband, a job in the church - everything is heavenly.

318/365

Jim

2006-12-11T03:59:00.000-08:00

likes toys. Large expensive ones that take gas, small inexpensive ones that flutter on the wind or pop out of your hand. He’s a big kid with a big wallet and a big heart with a big hole.

317/365

R.

2006-12-07T06:21:00.000-08:00

comes to school for morning classes. Everyday, her hair expresses individuality – an updo, a profusion of comma-like curls, or straight brushed. She writes about mixed senses, or her world of treatments. Her afternoons are needled with them.

316/365

Bob

2006-12-07T06:20:00.000-08:00

rides his bike through the lower east side to get to the wild nook he’s created to serve the world poetry. A button on his vest says “Imagine Peace.” Above the door: “Everything Subject to Change.”

315/365

Dr. ?

2006-12-05T04:39:00.000-08:00

was my childhood dentist. He dispensed a cheery arsenal of flourides and had a heavy accent that made my visits a comedy routine. “Open!” he’d shout, and I’d clamp my mouth shut, the suction tool puckering away.

314/365

The waitress

2006-12-04T08:28:00.000-08:00

had a brain tumor, did you know that? Yep. Look at her hussle with those salads and soups! You’d never know it except for maybe that thinner hair in the back. Three kids. How does she do it?

313/365

Jonas

2006-12-03T04:24:00.000-08:00

needeed his mother's t-shirt to make it through preschool, and even that didn't help some days. He'd go from cute separation anxiety tears to wet fury in less than a minute. Luckily, he liked pop-up books.

312/365

Jason

2006-12-02T04:49:00.000-08:00

His clean, suburban home says "single, no pets." Fish dart in tanks and a pond he dug. Travel photographs of waterfalls, rocky outcroppings and mountains decorate walls. The bathroom is the only room without a computer.

311/365

Bill

2006-12-01T04:13:00.000-08:00

became the leading male in the community theatre after he arrived as the pastor of the Lutheran church. I was sure his chin cleft was God’s thumbprint signature. For us, he stole the show as family friend.

310/365

Ray

2006-11-30T03:57:00.000-08:00

is trying on personas to see what fits best. Right now, he’s ghetto cool from the affluent suburbs – low riding pants, college sweatshirt, slang. His permanent slump and slow walk don’t hide his bright eyes and mind.

309/365

Jackie

2006-11-29T04:07:00.000-08:00

had a Levis and Doc Martens presence and an eye for design. She worked late nights as art director for a magazine, treated her employees to bagels, and could make me laugh so hard my eyes watered.

308/365

Aunt Vi

2006-11-28T02:57:00.000-08:00

was petite with groomed grey hair. She was tidy in carriage and in habit as she scrubbed countertops and kept the dark towels away from the light. Distracted, she once grated her fingernails into a church coleslaw.

307/365

Aunt Mae

2006-11-27T03:13:00.000-08:00

was premature and slept in a shoebox snugged in the bread warmer. As an adult, she’s renowned in the family circle as a patient and happy shopper, inching her cart down aisles for that perfect greeting card.

306/365

Heather

2006-11-26T05:04:00.001-08:00

camps with sarcasm and sardonic, punning wit. Her fire of language is built with the driest of twigs and leaves, kindling the wicked twinkle in her eyes and mind. Those high school marshmallows never had a chance.

305/365

Lisa

2006-11-26T05:04:00.000-08:00

showed me where the coat rack was in first grade. In sixth grade, she tried to baptize me at the water fountain. Senior year, without a prom date, she spread the rumor of her own considered suicide.

304/365

Bob

2006-11-24T07:38:00.000-08:00

rented a kiosk in the mall where he sold jewelry. Several crucifixes nestled in his carpet of chest hair, and rings adorned almost every finger. Employees got golden discounts and Black Friday customers got platinum upcharges.

303/365

Geraldine

2006-11-23T07:57:00.000-08:00

Feathered her hair in front and in the back where it met like two dimestore Victorian fans. Everything about her was petite – nails, nose, needlepoint eyes, heart. Homecoming queen, cheerleader, pink Bonne Bell lipgloss…you get the picture.

302/365

Susan

2006-11-22T04:39:00.000-08:00

is a refined willow tree. The birches wink their leaves at her. Breezes make her dance. She’s known torrents of rain and gusts of wind so forceful that others have cracked under them. Her roots are strong.

301/365

Sarah

2006-11-21T12:46:00.000-08:00

lifts her eyelids with effort to see a stranger with a notebook standing at her bedside. She repeats facts as the medication lulls speech. Photos of her cuddling nephews not that long ago halo her last room.

300/365

Sarah

2006-11-20T04:20:00.000-08:00

The football player doesn’t have a chance in her English class. At seventeen she’s worried about her “gender’s legacy,” and writes - “Love is sweet as a lemon rind and comes as sweet as cords that bind.”

299/365

David

2006-11-19T05:03:00.000-08:00

can be spotted rooms away by his booming-bottom-of-the-belly laugh, or the clomp of his cowboy boots. He’s resonant and can regale with stories. At the memorial service of his best friend, he hushed himself for the crowd.

298/365

Paul

2006-11-18T06:22:00.000-08:00

wears pants that are a half inch too short above his hiking boots, his hair is frowsy, and his shirt rumpled. He’s maypole skinny. Ah, but smart. His business appeals to humanity’s drive of ego over nature.

297/365

Marlea

2006-11-17T04:06:00.000-08:00

has Mrs. Tiggy Winkle eyes that twinklewrinkle when she smiles. When she listens to someone, she is employed by their words, then says what she means. A minister who never abandons humanity and humanity thrives for her.

296/365

Mrs. Burgess

2006-11-16T04:07:00.000-08:00

wrote and erased complex chemistry on the chalkboard at the same time. A metaphor now, the periodic table of the elements has evaporated, but what she said lingers – “Do what you oughta, add acid to watah.”

295/365

Patrick

2006-11-15T04:03:00.000-08:00

was the baby I cradled, wishing he lived closer. He was bundled off, and returned as an eleven year old with an extensive gaming vocabulary. Away he soared again, then landed as a quiet, quasar-brilliant adult.

294/365

Dorice

2006-11-14T03:55:00.000-08:00

listened to Squeeze, kayaked, baked the best brownies I ever tasted, and lived alone in an A-frame. She told not-so-funny family stories about her cousins tossing around lit 4th of July fireworks. She was the lucky one.

293/365

Helene

2006-11-13T03:43:00.000-08:00

All of her buttons are antique and vintage, or art glass. She weaves them into bracelets on synthetic sinew, never cuts the shanks, and guarantees all her work. The women pour over her designs. Husbands glaze over.

292/365

Alaina

2006-11-12T04:57:00.000-08:00

knits her world into exacting shapes that carry the American Ideal: married her high school sweetheart, bought a house and filled it with furniture her husband made, and now stitches in comfy dreams for the new baby.

291/365

John

2006-11-11T04:54:00.000-08:00

stretches another Charleston Chew as a dinner during rehearsal. His t-shirt says “button, button, whose got the button,” a joke from another show. His radio voice is perfect for directing. You know when you’ve missed a cue.

290/365

Angela

2006-11-10T03:19:00.000-08:00

Pixie dust, fairyland, swirls of glitter and iridescent wings, strings of affirmations wrapped in velvet – Angela is the embodiment of her art. Energetic, childlike and talkative, her eyelids shimmer like shades to tiny chariots of dream queens.

289/365

Helen

2006-11-09T04:43:00.000-08:00

grew up with two sisters. Each had a Hollywood name and face. Later, she sheaved photos of relatives in dresser drawers. When I found my great-aunt’s face smiling under shirts Helen said, “Crying won’t bring them back.”

288/365

This was a tough one. Cried all the way through it. Wrote about a paragraph and then pared it down to this, which I think was one of the most poignant moments of my childhood, which I consider blessed, since I got to spend so much of it with my two grandmothers.

The Woman in a Wheelchair

2006-11-08T04:38:00.000-08:00

inches down the hallway. “I am angry! I am angry!” she shouts to no one and everyone. When asked, she enflames, “I HATE this place. I want to burn it to the ground.” The caged finches peep.

287/365

Father Dave

2006-11-07T03:55:00.000-08:00

sported a shorter-haired Kevin Bacon look, without so much hip that he wasn’t a priest anymore. There’s a fine line and he knew where to chalk it. A soup lover, he made lunch for the whole rectory.

286/365

Ruth

2006-11-06T04:15:00.001-08:00

wore her hair down her back and worked as church secretary. Beautiful in a clean, plain way, she decided to compete for Mrs. America. Her lunches shrank, but her bikini was still too common to wow.

285/365

Snakebite

2006-11-06T04:15:00.000-08:00

guided city slickers down whitewater every weekend. His nickname suggested danger, but he was cuddly in his furry heart. A fang dangled from a strip of leather around his neck that rubbed a cheek as he bear-hugged.

284/365

Father Edwards

2006-11-06T04:10:00.000-08:00

hired a personal chef who thought “Salted Carrot” and “Smartie Squish” were real food, then endured culinary disasters until he taught her how to broil, sear and debone. Bart, his terrier, got leftovers.

283/365

Jen

2006-11-03T04:03:00.000-08:00

filed slides in the archives of the art department. Beautiful in a classical way, she seemed to spring from the romantic period, her clothes always brushstroked on, her lips red and pouty like putti smiling from heaven.

282/365

Cheri

2006-11-02T03:57:00.000-08:00

bubbled like a glass of champagne but lulled us slightly groggynumb, everything shifted to the left...are you sure that’s your hand? We all got A’s, not because we were talented or skilled. She simply dissolved details.

281/365

John

2006-11-01T03:56:00.000-08:00

asks, "What does this have to do with English?” He’ll ask again tomorrow. Hidden under a mop of hair, his bright eyes change like a mood ring. The teacher threatens yellow ducky barrettes. He smirks then scowls.

280/365

Aunt Lou

2006-10-31T03:54:00.000-08:00

A Lutheran deaconess, my grandfather’s sister. She lived a long life, and played everyone else off the Scrabble board with two letter wowers that miraculously made triple word scores. My memory lays down these tiles: “ruthlessly generous.”

279/365

Uncle Marvin

2006-10-30T03:51:00.000-08:00

was always the jokester. Ruddy cheeks and red hair, everything he did was fireball funny to me, and still is, even his forwarded shaggy dog emails. Humor sits in a summer tree with him, laughing, pranking.

278/365

Martha

2006-10-29T04:46:00.000-08:00

Imagine a conversation with a moth, a cloud, a mote of dust caught in sunlight. Lean in and listen. She has stories to tell of travels, her children, her dreams. A party balloon leaking in a corner.

277./365

Larry

2006-10-28T06:52:00.000-07:00

likes to talk about art, music , theory and philosophy. He can fill a living room, a phone line, a letter with branches of words. Think dense forest. You might need to bushwhack to find your way out.

276/365

Timmy

2006-10-27T05:06:00.000-07:00

squinches up his face like the inside of a lemon, opens his mouth, imagines fangs, lifts his arms as hands transform to claws, then stalks the room, emitting hisses. Too bad it’s math class. His velociraptor vaporizes.

275/365

Eric

2006-10-26T05:08:00.000-07:00

doesn’t want to read other poetry. It will taint his never-been-done-before style. He wants drive-thru advice on his writing. His emotion-packed lines are cobbled with rhyme and crooked porch meter. He leaves with an anthology and this: Read.

274/365

Emma

2006-10-25T05:35:00.000-07:00

keeps a pet snake with a name as fluffy as eiderdown. She loves animals and wants goats on a remote farm with her husband. It won’t take years. This woman plants destiny the way some plant nasturtium.

273/365

The G's Neighbor

2006-10-24T04:59:00.000-07:00

retired from his highway groundskeeper job, and enthralled everyone on a long drive with innumerable stories of blocked lawnmowers. When I took out my camera, he grabbed the directions booklet and took it straight into the bathroom.

272/365

Guess he was blocked too! Heehee.

Ron

2006-10-23T04:41:00.001-07:00

had a Napoleon build and ruled his home and work from a dark-panelled office. Military and rotary awards and papers decorated the walls and cabinets full of his business - insurance. His loss was the greatest – his son.

270/365

Bernice

2006-10-23T04:41:00.000-07:00

was the Betty-Crocker-June-Cleever housewife. She was the only mother of my friends who kept a weekly hair appointment and didn’t have even a part-time job. Everything in her home was orderly and clean. Including scrubbed children.

271/365

Mrs. D.

2006-10-21T05:44:00.000-07:00

had sons. Barry and I are pals. He invites me to all of his birthday parties. I invite him to my girly ones. She calls me ‘the only rose among the thorns,” and gives me extra cake.

269/365

Walt

2006-10-20T04:01:00.000-07:00

our first conversation is about bowel movements. It gets better. We advance to aides and nurses. He complains about how they bang his feet in the hallways. A daughter diverts his thoughts with questions about the war.

268/365

Cullen

2006-10-19T04:06:00.000-07:00

fears nothing. When asked to lead the class, he waves his hands like a conductor and clamps his eyes shut. His way is to trust the symphony behind his eyes and not know exactly where he’s going.

267/365

Mrs. P.

2006-10-18T04:10:00.000-07:00

sits in the back of class and grades. Her mind is on her son, off in Iraq, or in an airport in Kuwait, or preparing artillery, or handing a candybar to a child wearing underclothing of explosives.

266/365

Mr. M.

2006-10-17T04:17:00.000-07:00

taught science in my middle school. He made bad color combos of brown ties and yellow shirts but overcame the sniggering by being calm and competent. Ok, he got shoved in the closet (once) on a joke.

265/365