Reading
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What the Hell?
When I die does this blog die with me? Or, rather, does a bit of it, like a clipped toe nail forgotten on the tile floor, remain indefinitely until someone comes along and cleans it up: “Yep, he’s gone. Better clean this mess.” I was in Paris only five days, but guess philosophy is in Continue reading
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Didion’s book
Joan Didion’s The Year of Magical Thinking is, I suspect, a milestone in the literature of grief. Not being familiar with the literature I assume it must be so; for hardly can I image a more braided, tangled, yet orderly assembly of emotions and observations. Delivered by a masterful voice that is always careful and Continue reading
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Florence
Carole has called this the most beautiful city she has ever seen and I comment that it is the only city Napoleon didn’t destroy, though I don’t know where I heard that and don’t know if it is even true. It is true that the German’s blew up the city’s bridges on the morning of Continue reading
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A note on schedule.
Thoughts from a hammock in Guatemala Continue reading
...the house I live in... 