Describing myself would be a project. Let's start with being a husband of one, a father of four, and a grandfather of five; but who's counting? I moved to Oregon from the Midwest in 1969 when my twins were nine months old. Moved out in a bus whose previous owner was the Minneapolis Revival Mission. Been here ever since. If God loved me, I'd be retired by now, but as it is, I'm only tired. Constant bickering between God and myself has led to overt enmity, I'm sorry to say.

What else? You probably wouldn't like me, as I have nothing to say. I'm absolutely terrible at small talk.

Which may be why I obsess about cemeteries: looking for comfortable geography. That and temporal proximity.

Tall, stoop-shouldered, whitening hair, with wearing-out body parts. My warranty expired a while back.

Cantankerous.

If there's anyplace I'd rather be, it's on a backroad to nowhere. I'm happy to live my life at 20 mph. My lovely wife, Kay, and I have been drifting the rural routes of Oregon together for thirty-five years. Committing myself to visiting all of Oregon's cemeteries has been a geography lesson of considerable proportions. As of spring 2007, I've visited most all of the cemeteries in the NW quadrant of the state, which is probably about 2/3rds of the total.