A snow/ice/rain weather front moved into Baltimore about noon today and no one could predict what it would be like by 4 p.m. I don't mind driving in snow or rain, but ice is simply impossible around here. So I walked to the soup kitchen where I work Thursday afternoons, a distance of just under three miles.

Along the way, I saw a joint called The Opposite Sidewalk Saloon. The sign is positioned in such a way that one would never see it from a car. I filed it away, thinking it would make a good name for a short story. Then I recalled how I found what I always swore would be the title to my memoir. It was on a menu at a diner near the morgue: "Shaved Meats, Piled High."

We may have done this before, but let's do it again. Found poetry, potential titles for your memoirs. Better yet: Found poetry that you'll use to title your memoirs.