Stop Whistling and Start Singing

Whistling past the graveyard.  That phrase has been running through my mind all week long like it’s on a neverending loop.  Whistling past the graveyard.  Whistling past the graveyard.  Whistling past the graveyard. Frankly that’s how most of these essays get started. Some little thing — a memory, an image, a notion, a saying —…