I believe that tables remember things. Not in any mystical sense, although I suppose I make my living encouraging people to entertain such possibilities. I simply mean that if a table could speak, it...

July 1, 2026 Estes Park, CO The tea has been steeping just long enough. The steam rises in wee clouds from the cup resting on the worn corner of my desk, carrying with it that rich fragrance that...

This month’s essays are going to focus on what gets left behind. They will be more autobiographical as I focus on the lessons I learned on this journey. This isn’t about dying; it’s...

Certain major holidays contain a measure of dread for me. Father’s Day is one of those. None of the kids called. One texted really late, explaining that the day was busy. One sent a series of...

A few nights ago, after a séance at the Stanley Hotel, I found myself alone in one of those quiet stretches of hallway that seem to belong more to memory than architecture. The guests had gone...

A Weekly Reflection The last guests had drifted out into the hallway, carrying their coats and conversations with them, and the old room had finally settled into silence. I remained behind for a...

Respecting the Craft that Built You A few years ago, after a séance at the Stanley Hotel, I found myself lingering in the empty room long after the guests had gone. The chairs were still arranged in a...

When More Stops Being Better A few nights ago, after a séance at the Stanley Hotel, I found myself lingering in one of the hallways long after the guests had gone. The building changes character when...

What I Would Refuse to Sacrifice After the last group had gone, I found one of the small tables in the room slightly turned from where it belonged, as if the evening itself had bumped against it on...