When I was about 4 or 5 years old, I would pull out my toy screwdriver whenever there was a half moon on a clear night and I would stand at my bedroom window twisting the tool against the glass.  My mother would find me hard at work, and she’d ask what I was doing.  I would always reply, “the moon is broken and I’m fixing it.” She’d join me, and tell me when she thought I had completed the job.  That’s when all would be right in the world and I’d go off to bed.

I’m not attempting to fix the moon; I just thought it would be a catchy title for my corner of the internet. What to expect here: Observations. Lamentations. Rants. Memoir.

Feel free to comment. Or not; however you’re inclined.