Inside my head dwells a hyperactive 11-year-old boy. From dawn til dusk, he rattles on with endless observations, comments and questions about the things that were, are, and might come to be. He is rarely appeased, but after a bit of work I can usually get him under control with a few routines.

My morning ritual begins with Toby, my canine BFF: we roam an old golf course as he tries to outwit me in pursuit of his life's work: the throwing of the ball.