Author: Gregory Greenleaf

It’s a Sunday afternoon and I’m at the grocery store, driving around, looking for a place to park. Close to the store, cars fill the hundreds of games of tic-tac-toe outlined on the tar. I see a pickup truck taking up two precious spots.

My wife and I are in a dressing room at Macy’s. I am wearing a mint green shirt covered with paddleboards. “You think I can wear this to work?” “Paddleboards are cool,” Ally says. “And you can wear this untucked with a navy blue T-shirt underneath.”

My Lab Echo and I have just set out for our daily walk down Cundy’s Harbor Road when a red car pulls up alongside me. The driver is a man in his late 60s, and is wearing two or three days of gray stubble around his face.

I am sopping up a little gas I spilled on the garage floor while filling up my chainsaw. The rag came from the family rag bag that my wife Allison manages.

Get a piece of paper and draw a horizontal line. Above the line, write the word “fortune.” Below the line, write the word “misfortune.” In his analysis of fables and myths from around the world, the late novelist Kurt Vonnegut discovered a pattern.