Mad about the '60s
Alarm clock. The midcentury go-getter stepped smartly on time to his first meeting of the day thanks to an actual alarm clock. He made sure to wind it the night before. Today's cellphone does the same job with a beep, but it can't equal the bed-stand ...
April 11, 2015
How Ron Fliegelman Became The Weather Underground's Bomb Guru
Each device carried two sticks of dynamite linked to an alarm clock. The devices were wiped with alcohol to remove any fingerprints. In an uncredited It had four floors, plenty of bedrooms, and a subbasement with a workbench where James Wilkerson ...
March 29, 2015
Living With Ghosts: My Time At the Butler Goodrich House
I also employed a few old-fashioned tricks no longer in fashion (including some picked up from former MCLA professor and parapsychologist Ali Allmaker), things like laying very simple machines — old windable alarm clocks, piles of coins, and a ...
March 30, 2015
THE SECOND HALF: Shared vacations are good for couples
(My single working mother's primary focus was paying the mortgage and putting food on the table.) But once I was on my own But when it was time for vacation, I discovered he wasn't nearly as enthused about vacations as he had been when that alarm ...
March 17, 2015
Beaming into spring with a cut here and cut there
now, rains that, just last week, woke me up instead of an alarm clock, early spring rains that nudged the already fat and swollen buds into bloom and forcefully found their way through the fireplace causing a buckle on the old wooden floor in my ...
March 22, 2015
Michael Graves Remembered For Colorful Historicism and Healthcare Innovation
His work for the American retailer—which included tea kettles, toasters, colanders, coffee pots, alarm clocks, and dozens of other household items—not only made design affordable to the masses, but led to a generation of fashion and design ...
March 18, 2015
Will a Multimillionaire Polo Mogul Be Punished for a Fatal Drunken Accident?
Their challenge is to hit the ball with wooden mallets, moving it down the field and into a goal, without losing control or crashing their horses into one another. Invented by hordes of nomadic warriors 2,000 years ago, the game has morphed . his ...
March 18, 2015
and a friend. outside the night river. moves seawards to return. later moon-drenched. meeting a good old friend –. her face sheds all its years. green woodpecker. nestled in the lawn. red head up and down. christmas day. not long after midnight –. wind down the chimney. one last patch of snow. where I sit to read. on the summer lawn. under half a moon. moon-etched. on a midnight lawn. of the moon. chiming midnight. of a day without a name. – hollow wind. so long ago –. making a bonfire of the old year. green curtains. at the open night window. this night again I travel. roving wind. & rattling shutters –. night store. the notion of oneness. (reading Plotinus). (reading Plotinus).
It was early morning on September sixteenth. Three am is the first time that I recall looking at the clock as the contractions I had been having for days caused me to stir from my sleep. At that point I needed to move, laying still was too much for me. I had to be doing something. It was Monday morning, the sun wasn’t up yet, and I had a lot of things to finish before my little girl made her arrival. Aromatherapy candles, comfortable clothes, my notebook, and of course the array of tiny items that would be needed for my little girl. I did some sewing to pass the time between contractions, I folded her clothes that were stacked on the changing table, I organized the drawers in her nursery. I enjoyed my moments of quite as I labored alone in the early morning. As the morning progressed, and the sun started its ascent into the sky, I was ready for company. Andy was still asleep, so I waited for his alarm to go off and for him to return my call. The pain of the contractions had moved. With each contraction, I felt nothing in my stomach. We called morning star for help. Heather recommended taking to the bed and piling pillows under my hips as I lay on my stomach on the bed, this was to help baby girl’s spine end up cradled in the front of my stomach.
The gloom descended on him the moment his sneaker touched the broken walk leading to his mother’s house. Michael looked up at the grimy windows and they stared back with baleful black eyes. “The beast” as Michael liked to call it, waited for his return, laughing at him. The rusty mailbox, clinging to the side of the house by one screw, hung heavy with the day’s mail. Michael shifted the plastic bags to one hand and dug out the fistful of envelopes. Hoping not to wake her, Michael crept through the door – but the house betrayed him. Under his breath he cursed the miserable old beast. Michael felt his lips curl back into a snarl. He tossed the bags on the kitchen table. Michael shouted back. “Yeah, I got everything. ” Under his breath he muttered, “Ya crazy, old bitch. She was a tiny woman peering out beneath heavy black framed eyeglasses. A nearly spent cigarette hung from her lips as she approached her only son. Michael grunted and nodded. The old woman patted his arm and eased herself into a chair to look through the mail. Michael flinched at her touch.