Chuck Zumbrun

Tales from Skunk Hill

  • A way of life is dying

    “Libraries, museums, and schools are fragile institutions; they cannot long survive violent assaults. A way of life was dying.” – Stephen Greenblatt in “The Swerve” Greenblatt is writing about what happened to the center of learning that was Alexandria around 400 CE. Or maybe right here today in 2024.

  • Wildflowers

    Wildflowers

    You belong among the wildflowers.

  • DEI

    DEI

    We each have the opportunity and choice every day to make our corner of the world a little better.

  • Good People

    Back in 2014 I was the “cover boy” on the Exapta Solutions catalog. I’d emailed the company telling them how much I liked their products. They replied and asked if they could use my email in their catalog, and could I send a picture? Well, if you know me, you know how I like…

  • Another Mom Story

    [ Another Mom story I didn’t publish back in 2019. ] I was helping Mom get on her MyChart account to check for a doctor’s appointment. She’d forgotten her password so we going through the security question rigmarole. “Ok,” I said, “it’s asking for your favorite person from history.” [1] Mom answered, without hesitating,…

  • I’m Cold

    [ I wrote this back in May, 2019, but didn’t post, not wanting to freak Mom out too. ] I took my Mom today to have a minor medical procedure done, one where she needed a light anesthetic . All went well and as she was coming back from the anesthetic they called me…

  • How Many Troys?

    No Second Troy BY William Butler Yeats Why should I blame her that she filled my daysWith misery, or that she would of lateHave taught to ignorant men most violent ways,Or hurled the little streets upon the great,Had they but courage equal to desire?What could have made her peaceful with a mindThat nobleness made simple…

  • An Indiana Winter

    The Snow Man  BY Wallace Stevens One must have a mind of winterTo regard the frost and the boughsOf the pine-trees crusted with snow; And have been cold a long timeTo behold the junipers shagged with ice,The spruces rough in the distant glitter Of the January sun; and not to thinkOf any misery in…