Everyone is good at something, and falling is where I excel. At his wife’s funeral, my grandfather stumbled and loudly exclaimed, “I fall more now than I did when I was drinking.” Perhaps it’s genetic. The falling down, I mean.
One never knows when one might have a small run in with the police. And so it was on Monday, when we fled my ivory tower and ran to the Starbucks we watch from my window. A doppio for The
“And there he is.” There under the street lamp in front of the restaurant that had our 8 o’clock reservation. His puffy red jacket and shaved head glowing. A huge smile on that odd face. “My friends!” he said in
An apologia for a dilettante: I don’t know much about any one thing, but I do know a little bit about a lot. Mine is a mind filled with juxtapositions. We begin with John Donne, 17th century poet extraordinaire, who
So now I’m a criminal. A small one, both in stature and in the nature of my crime. A little bitter about the former, a bit confused about the latter. And while I suppose that nothing can be done about
I had a new yoga-friend. It’s complicated of course, but suffice to say that we were new friends who took a yoga class together and then decided we’re much better at coffee and the other thing we do together that