Just One of the Litter
by Tim Reynolds
I was raised by a French girl, coached by a Golden boy, and taught the meaning of true love by a Yorkshire girl.
They were, in order, a poodle, a retriever, and a terrier. If you said I’m a dog person, I wouldn’t contradict you, though I like cats, too. I like all animals, usually more than I like people, but dogs… A dog is the only creature that will love you more than you love yourself.
We got Lollipop (the names have been changed to protect my computer security), the toy poodle, when I was nine months old, and she was my girl. When I was four I learned to whistle loudly enough to be heard two blocks away, and Lollipop came running every time—a little black blur through the neighborhood…continue reading the Spring issue of SEARCH Magazine.
Bachelor to Grandfather in a Blink
By Tim Reynolds
On my 41st birthday, I was a childless bachelor with a long history of living loose of foot and free of fancy. On my 42nd birthday I was four months into a terrific relationship that would last another thirteen years. Then, without any warning whatsoever from a certain inebriated palm reader or the sweet Psychic Tradeshow Tarot reader, I celebrated my 43rd birthday as a grandfather. Yes indeedy, I went from childless bachelor to grandfather in a blistering eighteen months. Somehow this old dog had managed to skip parenthood completely and jump straight down the rabbit hole to grandparenthood.
Baby Jake was born very suddenly due to an abruption his mother suffered. They were only a couple hours from either one or both of them not surviving. He was a lot of weeks early and spent most of it imprisoned in the Neonatal Care Unit under heavy guard. It was a long time before I was allowed to hold this little bundle of wonder, but I did get to see him incubating a few hours after his hatching. He was wrinkly, and red, and so tiny I was afraid to even breathe near his chamber of life. As time passed, he grew strong and bigger.
When Jake-the-Snake…continue reading.
The Lighter Side: Name That Therapy
by Tim Reynolds
My family has been around for a long time, as I’m sure yours has. For too many generations to count, the Reynolds Family Tree has been full of greats and not-so-greats, but I think the time has finally come for us to get some serious, professional therapy.
Our arboreal graphic includes sailing over on The Mayflower, acquiring the rights to Martha’s Vineyard and Nantucket for 40 pounds and two beaver skin hats, the longest missionary effort in Christendom, involvement in the American Revolution, being chased out of the US after said revolution, bringing Canada together as a nation, and being present at the Russian Revolution. Fidel Castro even tried to recruit my Navy pilot father to help him take back his homeland from some dictator name Batista, but that’s a story for another time.
I used to think that the shadiest part of my family history was being chased out of Salem, Massachusetts way back when, but then I happened to look a wee bit closer at the more recent sections of this glorious Tree of Me. My concern really took root when I looked at my own parents…read more in the Fall issue of SEARCH Magazine.
Santa, Seniors, and a Goat
by Tim Reynolds
“I used to be Santa Claus, and I lived in a place called The Land of a Million Christmas Trees.
No, I haven’t been to too many wine tastings. I once worked at a grand, century-old railway hotel a mile up in the Rockies, and because we were covered in snow by mid-October, seniors homes and corporations drove up from the big city to have a holiday lunch or fancy group dinner. By mid-November, the hotel was decorated to the rafters with trees, garlands, lights—the whole shebang.
Since people drove almost two hours, they expected to get a visit from Jolly St. Nick, and when I wasn’t working the hotel’s switchboard, I was one of two Santas on call.
The corporate parties were pretty much all the same—either I “Ho! Ho! Hoed!” into the room and gave out candy canes at each table, or I sat and gave out their gifts for them. But it was the senior lunches where I recharged my joy and silliness batteries for the rest of the winter. My routine was short and simple: I approached each big round table of eight and greeted each guest, leaving who I estimated to be the most elderly of the ladies until last. I knelt down next to her, slyly read her name tag, and said just loud enough for her and her tablemates to hear, “You haven’t been to see me in awhile, Alice.” to read the full article, download the free eCopy of SEARCH Magazine‘s Winter Issue.
Fall Cake Decorating
by Effie Seiberg
“I always loved sculpting, but when I moved from the East Coast to San Francisco and lived in a teeny tiny studio, space mattered. Switching my love of sculpting from clay onto cake was a wonderful discovery. Not only does it save space, but it turns out people are way more excited to get a sculpted cake as a gift than a clay sculpture. Plus, cake is by far the more delicious medium. The nice thing about cake decorating is that it looks much harder than it actually is. Anyone can do it!” to read the full article, download the free eCopy of SEARCH Magazine‘s Fall Issue.
The Great Bad Costume
by Tim Reynolds
“I’m sure if we dig deep enough, we all have a best-or-worst costume story somewhere in our memory banks. I love costumes and have won prizes with mine, including a regional theatre award for design, so here is my ‘worst-costume-best-memory’ story.
I was a goofy college senior, and Jane was a beautiful, petite, quietly intelligent freshman. We met at a dance while I was wearing bright orange coveralls and a red felt top hat. That should have been a warning sign that I was a little unconventional, but I suppose Jane was wide-eyed attracted to the fact I had just been cast as a Shark in the college’s fall production of West Side Story, the reason I was tearing up the dance floor in all my sartorial splendor.
That was late September. We only lived a block apart on the same part of campus so we got to see each other at the occasional meal in the Refectory and in the Great Hall common room when my rehearsals and lackadaisical studies didn’t conflict with her intensely serious studies. It was a time of innocence for both of us, unlike ‘kids these days’. What time we spent together was mostly hand-holding walks on campus and how-was-your-day chats. There was no Internet and no cellphones, no emails, and no texts. Neither of us even had a phone in our residence room, requiring a visit to the Proctor’s Desk or a payphone to reach anyone not close enough to yell at down the hall...” to read the full article, download the free eCopy of SEARCH Magazine‘s Fall Issue.