Spring is sneaking in on little cat feet. Stealing from me as it comes.

It started a few weeks ago after one of the first 70 degree days in Charlotte after what’s seemed like a decade in the 30s and 40s.

I lost my favorite long-sleeve shirt. One of the shirts that live for few months outside of a plastic tub in the attic.

I searched everywhere.


Oh well, I’m getting old. You lose things when you’re old.

Then we went to Florida for a few days escaping more cold weather here.

The weather there was glorious. I’d brought along another of my favorite long-sleeve shirts just in case.

Never wore it.

Upon our return, “Um … where’s my Marlins shirt?” I asked my wife.

We looked everywhere.

“I know we took it on the trip,” I said. “Maybe the housekeeper swiped it? Maybe that’s how it works with housekeepers? Don’t touch the computers, but pilfer a shirt here and there. No one would notice that, right?.” It was a classic Marlins jersey, after all. With the actual fish logo, not that terrible M.

Gone. Stolen away on a beautiful day.

Then last week, after two consecutive days of warm weather here,


two more favorite long-sleeve shirts disappear.

I’m down to one.

I’m wearing it now.

It smells like enchiladas from Saturday’s dinner—because it hasn’t warmed up outside since.



Jim Mitchem

Thank you, Carl Sandburg

Florida Man

Jim Mitchem

Writer. Father to daughters. Husband. Ad man. Raised by wolves. @jmitchem on twitter. First novel, Minor King, out now.