The Last Story I will Tell
Here I write in the land of Erie in the middle of winter at about 6am. My relief will be here in a couple hours and she will not come soon enough. The last Story will be in progress just like the eggs I just boiled to make egg salad. The recipe said let the water go to s boil and the cover for ten minutes. Time is up. They sit in cold water waiting a peeling(appealing).
I recall my own moments of near drowning as a youth as I sought to escape the boiling heat of summer. The cooling off felt good until I got in over my head. The next thing you know I find myself sitting at a table that will seat five residents who are intellectually disabled. How did I get on this wooden chair, an investigation away from losing my job. Every day is as my last and yet it is where I need to be at this moment.
I recall the words of my own father when I was eight years old. Is there anyone dumber than you. He certainly knew how to lay down the gauntlet. How could I resist picking up where he left off, well over fifty years later. Surely someone besides myself will attend to my last tale. After all it is the last and everyday thereafter it will mean the last for all eternity in a never ending loop.
So let's see where this last Story starts you may even want to dive into the narrative. It beckons you to come into a place where dreams live and possibilities are real.