Finding James Dean in the attic

A James Dean cookie jar, to be exact. It was a long-ago gift from my ex-in-laws (man, that's a lot of hyphens), packed away in my house's attic along with plastic bins containing the ex's Maxim magazines. I was up on the ladder, shoulders-deep in the warm attic, lugging down those Maxims, intending to sell them in... Continue Reading →


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