The Reindeer Keeper

Signs inform us. Direct us. Influence us. They come in all sizes. Some, like the Amish sign above, are simple. Some signs light up. Some flash on and off twenty-four hours a day. Some signs are subtle. Quiet, like a whispering breeze. Precious as a baby's smile. Signs of impending bad weather or a health scare are signs we would prefer to go away. After losing someone we love, their life is retold over and over again. Signs of their life are everywhere. They tell a story.  Their story unfolds as we take care of their things, from fishing poles to books (some with pages marked or paragraphs underlined, or notes scribbled on pieces of paper stuck between pages) to clothing we remember them wearing. We clean out drawers. Pack up boxes. Those signs are at every turn. On most every wall. On the refrigerator door. In most every room. From favorite magazines and countless editions of newspapers read from front to back, over and over again, to favorite old 45 records-to photos. So many pho...

  These two caught my eye as I drove by. The goat was following the horse. Something made me turn around and stop my car. I watched as the horse led the goat from one spot to another. When the goat was lagging behind, the horse would stop and wait, turning around to see where the goat was, patiently waiting for his friend. They seemed to be on a mission. I got the feeling this was not a chance meeting. They appeared to have a close relationship. Walking about that field looked to be a routine thing they did together. The horse was the leader, watching over his friend. The goat seemed appreciative, running at times to catch up. Traffic was pretty heavy. First a tractor with a friendly farmer giving me a wave went by. Then an Amish buggy with a young couple and two little ones, curiously smiling, waved back at me as they continued on their way. The longer I sat there the more I realized the horse and the goat were like good friends meeting up in the morning. Going for a cup of coffee...

  I must have been twelve or thirteen when I first looked through a New York Times’ Sunday edition that my father brought home from work. I was instantly intrigued by such an extensive newspaper with so many sections and the smell of all that ink on all of that newsprint. I remember standing at the kitchen table with the paper wide open. There was just so much to see and read. But I never made it through all of those pages. I never got beyond the first section. I was stopped in my tracks by a logo. You have to realize this was way before computers and instant everything. There were only three news networks on the TV. Cable was nonexistent. Magazines ran cigarette ads. It was a whole different world. So when I turned a page of that newspaper and saw for the first time a pen and ink logo that swirled off the page in creativity, I was hooked.  The logo was the Lord & Taylor logo. The ad said the item advertised was available at all Lord & Taylor stores. I wasn’t intereste...

While doing some cleaning-out-of-stuff in the garage recently I came across an old cardboard box marked fragile. Pulling the box closer to me, I sat down and removed the yellowed, crinkled tape holding it together; then slowly opened it. As I began lifting away layers of crumpled newspapers, I noticed something towards the bottom, half exposed and sparkling. Taking a closer look, I knew what I’d found.   Every once in a while, I’d wonder where it’d gone. After removing the rest of the newspapers, I stood with that box in hand and went inside the house. Putting it down on the kitchen counter, I began pulling out small crystal cups and eventually, a crystal punch bowl and crystal ladle. All of the pieces had belonged to my mother.   Taking a wet cloth, I wiped away leftover bits of newspapers and grit and remnants of leaves that had found their way inside the box. The longer I stood there, the more memories of that crystal punch bowl came back to me. My father was a memb...

Growing up in the country surrounded by relatives proved to be my own Kickstarter when it came to taking my love of newspapers at a very young age to another level. I don't know if my infatuation was with the smell of the print or everything that a newspaper had to offer from the front page to the last page. Add in flyers and advertisements and the lure grew even stronger. I read all the sections-from local news to national news to sports and special features. When my father brought the newspaper home with him, I was usually the first one to grab it. My family's home was one of four homes in a row and all those homes were full of those relatives. My grandparents' farmhouse was the anchor. Off in a field not far from the farmhouse was an abandoned chicken coop. That old coop became the center of my universe, as well as my cousins, after the adults gutted it and filled it with the desks, chalkboards, and books from a vacated one-room schoolhouse. We were always in the ...