Lonny Cain

When I was 11 or 12 years old, I was into deep-sea diving. In our house. It was challenging because I did not have air tanks.

“Plan your next escape – Arkansas.” Normally, I'd buzz by that little promo. I see them all the time. But this time, something struck me about the message.

Getting ready for work is not like it used to be. The dress code is gone. No ties or collared shirts. I really don't have to shave every day.

My head was on a swivel, standing at the sliding door into my backyard. It was dark, except for lightning flashes. I slid the door open to listen.

I have always used my pockets as portable treasure chests. They carried things of great importance.

In some ways, my day does not start until I open the curtains. Before my first sip of coffee, I head straight to the front window.

“I love this city!” That's a little something my wife likes to repeat when we visit New York and our son, who lives in Brooklyn.

I have a rule. If I can't look at it, then I can't eat it. I guess there's a psychology to eating. Right? It's not just about flavor.

Sherlock Holmes, I am not. I get personal reminders of this now and then. Besides being embarrassing, they are deflating moments. Tough on my ego.

When I was 11 or 12-years-old, I was into deep sea diving. In our house. Now, a skinny kid wearing a face mask automatically looks ridiculous.