My father  always hoped that I would take the civil service exam and go to work with the U.S. Postal Service.  Or work on an assembly line at the Ford plant near our home in Cleveland.    Or work for the East Ohio Gas Company.  But I moved to Oregon, and became a writer.  Copywriter.  Creative director.

I don’t know how Dad felt about that.  About me being a writer.  About not actually building something. Coming home dirty.  Sore back.  Cold beer.  He never said.   I guess he loved me anyway.   

Well,  I may never have had my father’s rough hands.  Or his aching back.  But I can say this much.  I have been busy.  Not only with the writing, but with creating a new web site.  If you want to take a look, please visit  Cheers