By Don C. Reed It is said that when a person dies, his or her brain offers one last gift: highlights of its owner’s past. Favorite moments return, and images of beloved people. If that is true, I hope to see again my sister Patty, who died of leukemia. I miss her...
By Don C. Reed At the top of the ten meter platform, the young Chinese woman turned around, so her toes gripped the edge of the board, and her heels hung suspended over the blue square of water far below. She raised her arms, poised for one second, two…. Flexing...
By Don C. Reed It was 4:00 in the morning, March 13th, 2019. I was at Roman’s house, providing medical care for my paralyzed son. The doorbell rang. Who could be visiting at such a miserable hour? It was my brother-in-law, Salvatore. “Gloria’s fallen,” he said, “The...
By Don C. Reed When I told my wife Gloria I was writing an article about rats, she had several comments, including: “Oo, ugh!” and also “That’s disgusting!” Obviously, there are problems with rats, such as when they chew through electrical wires, which may cause a...
By Don C. Reed For a writer, scars are stories. For instance, on the next-to-last finger of my right hand, there is a tiny white scar, from when I was a diver at Marine World long ago. I had been scrubbing algae off the walls in the moray eel tank, inhabited by...
By Don C. Reed Imagine a disease, terrible in its effects, but only a few people have it… will Big Pharma invest the billions required to find and develop its cure? Probably not. Lacking the possibility of profit, few corporations will risk a billion dollars plus...
