I’m a Boat People
by Tim Reynolds
I come from a long line of boat people. Three hundred and ninety-eight years ago my ninth Great-Grandfather left his wife and five daughters at home to sail off on something longer than a three-hour tour. Richard never returned, although after three years, he had Elizabeth and the girls sail over to join him.
Unfortunately, five years later, he was dead, cause unknown. He was only forty-nine. Now, I’m not saying ninth-Great-Grandma had anything to do with ninth-Great-Grampa’s untimely and mysterious death, but maybe sailing away on the Mayflower without his family wasn’t his best decision ever.
The weighing of anchors and snapping of mainsails is so ingrained in our blood that my father bought a twenty-foot sailboat when I was a kid so the family could ply the exciting waters of Lake Ontario. We spent many “joyous” long weekends away from our friends, on… continue reading in Summer 2018 issue.
by Tim Reynolds
I loves me my trees. Not in a “that young fella needs some serious therapy” kinda love. More like adoration, appreciation, affection, and a few other A-words from the thesaurus.
Sadly, I have another A-word, allergies. Specifically, dust, mold, mildew, ragweed, grass, and trees. In other words I’m allergic to the entire world. Over the decades my allergies have tapered off, but when I was a young goat exploring the world I was always trying different places in which to hide from my two younger sisters.
The crawlspace under my parents’ bedroom was perfect. It had just enough hanging spider egg sacks to keep my sisters at bay. It also had enough dust, mold, and mildew to give me a serious respiratory infection for a month.
Next I thought of hiding in the grass in the backyard, but Mom had some bizarre fixation about having a nicely groomed short lawn around our suburban brick castle, so I would have looked like… continue reading in Spring 2018 issue.
Prince Goofball…and the search for cozy
by Tim Reynolds
Once upon a time, in a kingdom far, far away, there lived a prince who was trés un-cozy and mucho unhappy.
The internet had not yet been invented, and he was forced to meet his princesses the old fashioned way—by placing an ad in the local door-to-door-delivered free Pennysaver paper.
His Royal Self didn’t fancy piña coladas or getting caught in the rain, so he turned to his Royal Minister of Public Relations, which, in a kingdom of one, was the frowning face in every mirror. Between the two of him, he penned the perfect, shallow, no-fail, courtship decree.
“Ladies, when was the last time you received a rose and a poem? Why sit at home when the last of the romantics is 27, a University grad, cartoonist, writer, dance demon, Billy Joel junky, Mozart maniac, 5’9”, 140 lbs. and questing for a princess, 19-30, slim, pretty… continue reading in Winter 2017 issue.
Don’t Kick the Cook
by Tim Reynolds
I have been eating for over half a century now and have spent a great deal of time in kitchens, professionally, practically, and even romantically.
If you can’t nuzzle while stirring pasta, what’s the point of cooking Italian? Although my skills have serious limits, I have discovered Three Basic Rules of food prep that I now pass on to you.
One: Salt to taste.
Two: Singed eyebrows grow back.
Three: Preheat the oven.
Salt to taste: My buddy Craig and were up at his family cottage for a weekend of fishing, rum, and cribbage. Since the fish weren’t biting that day, we went to our back-up plan, a simple, manly goulash that two twenty-something former Boy Scouts considered to be Cordon Bleu gourmet dining. Meat, veggies, more meat…perfect. When it came time to add a touch of seasoning, Craig tapped a pinch of salt straight from the shaker into the pot. Unfortunately, the shaker lid wasn’t screwed on quite as tight as it needed it to be and a half-full shaker’s worth of salt slid straight into the goulash… continue reading in Fall 2017 issue.
I live a boring little life, in a boring little duplex, on a boring little cul-de-sac, in a city whose most exciting event of the year revolves around cows.
I eat, I sleep, I go to work, I write, I hang out with my three beasts. My life is completely devoid of adventure and really always has been. If there was a color to describe my life, it would be Suburban Beige, the beigiest beige on the color wheel.
As a kid I wanted to be everything from an astronaut to a cowboy to a spy to a movie star, and finally, Elvis. None of it happened.
I’ve never even had the adventure of marriage, although I did once propose to a girlfriend at the airport before she left on a jet plane to fly across the continent to donate a kidney to her mother. No, she didn’t say ‘yes’. She laughed and said, “Are you kidding?”
I’ve never driven a Formula One race car, although I did park a Mini in the foyer of our college chapel… continue reading in Summer issue 2017.
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.