11/08/2024

I’m not a sport person. I don’t feel at home on a team and hate organized competition. 


I suppose it’s not actually the sport itself to which I object—running is good, and I guess kicking things—it’s the rah-rah stuff that tends to surround it: the war games.


10/05/2024

Friday I wrote: Though a garden can be read as a metaphor, I do my best to see mine for what it is. I spent time outside yesterday in one of those fall days that are as precious and fleeting in their way as when the forsythia opens in spring, though on the other end of the year’s spectrum. These days don’t last…

08/22/2024

The wedding took place in Pereira, Colombia, and most if not all of the family were there to see one of us, a great-niece of mine, get married at an elegant old hacienda to a handsome, enterprising Colombian who was in turn surrounded by his distinguished family and friends. I was there to officiate, one of two, me speaking English, the groom’s uncle, Spanish.

07/26/2024

March or Parade? Does it matter? Is the divide real or one only of words? 

 

My memories of the Stonewall Inn that Friday night in June, 1969 seem real enough. But did things really happen as I remember or was the reality somewhat different?

05/17/2024

Narcissus Yellow Ocean and a Conradian yarn

 

A friend in California calls the New England spring ‘the green wall’. I hadn’t thought of it in such terms but she’s right. As the trees leaf out, copper and green, they shut down views, arch over roads, insist on being noticed as they point the way toward summer.

 

 

 

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ST

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