Anyone who has seen the pate of my head lately will know that I suffer from chronic frustrations that cause me to pull the hair from my head. Take, for instance, the road near my sons’ high school, Hemmingway Ln. The street is in a subdivision known as Chaucer Estates. It intersects Longfellow Ln, Stevenson Ln., and Tennyson Dr, and it runs parallel to Frost Ln, and Twain Dr. These, of course, are all well known authors. Except Hemmingway. Ernest Hemingway I know and love, but I have no idea who this fellow with two ‘m’s in the middle of his name is. Papa must be rolling over in his grave. So it is that I fastidiously tie the remains of my once lustrous locks into a tight bun and tackle firearms pet peeves.
