It is 1996. I am forty. My wife, Anne, whom I miss a great deal, dumped me and now lives cross the street.

It is a three day class for memoir writers. I had not known that so few men would attend. Elizabeth Gilbert and Cheryl Strayed...

The party's over early, we drive home. Tonight my wife makes me feel old by looking young to me and being, frankly, every bit my age...

A spell that we didn’t want broken came down like a mist from the hills. In the boat not a sentence was spoken and even the coxswain was hush...

As New York City wakens and rubs its sleepy eyes, a darkness and a shaking and a wailing fill the skies...