Mike Rowe

I just got off the phone with my mother, who is celebrating her 82nd birthday today by playing cards in the lobby of a Comfort Inn somewhere with my father and youngest brother. Last night, she slept for approximately half-an-hour on the “auto-train,” which my father insisted on taking from Baltimore, so that he can have his car in West Palm, while visiting my other brother. I feel sorry for my mother, and somewhat guilty for not having an address to send her flowers, or some other token of my affection. So I did the only thing I could do Read More