The little nugget of money that was left went to my father. I inherited a large trunk of my grandfather’s books, notes and scribbles. I was in my twenties when he disappeared. Most everyone assumed he had taken his sailboat out on a final, symbolic trip and never returned. I did not believe that; a mere week before his disappearing act, my grandfather visited me. He knew, of course, that I had worshipped him for much of my life, and that I lusted to accomplish half of what he had. That was when he gave me the trunk. He said very little, only that he knew I liked to read, unlike my father, and that he was getting old, going toward what he called the “beams of golden light”. He patted me on the shoulder, and then vanished a week later. Continue reading “A Thousand Mouths – Alexander Olson” →