Fifty-two died; a tiny island in the horrific testament of six million.
[W]hen I leave my routines behind for travel or some other demand on my time, I miss them. Routines are like botulinum; they can kill, but just a little bit smooths away the harshness of everyday.
Gone! Just like that. A creative man, a father, a mentor a teacher is gone from this world. I don’t understand. The news comes halfway round the world the same day with shock and pain, loss and too much sadness. The world is a poorer place. I know Jeff’s light goes on in the giant [...]
Yes, I turned the radio on and now I resent the urgent voices directing my brain to competitive stories. Did you think that trash would fill my cup—which both runneth over and cries at the long drought of emptiness? No, I don’t want to hear a state-wide discussion on a fascinating topic, or an international [...]