In F. Scott Fitzgerald’s The Great Gatsby, the disembodied eyes of Dr. T.J. Eckleburg preside, unblinking, over a landscape of smoking industrial ash, byproduct of an uninhibited pursuit of wealth.
Are we living in that wasteland with a cardboard god casting his ineffectual judgement over our selfish pursuits? I don’t…
A pile of local weeklies sporting headlines like “Geiger Wins House Race” and “Miramant Reelected to State Senate” stared up at me from the tail of the check-out counter at my neighborhood market.
Consternated, I asked the clerk, “What’s with the old papers?” He looked at me quizzically. Then we…
Trapped in a mist-bound guest house in Nepal waiting for clear weather, I was taught to play Bagh-Chal by a Nepali Wharton graduate. He was a wonderful and patient teacher.
Bagh-Chal is a game of unequal power. One player controls four tigers, the other, twenty goats. The tigers try to…
My husband asked me, “Do you think you can tell who someone will vote for just by looking at them?”
I thought about it, about how people dress, their carriage, whether they wear a mask, my central casting versions of Rockefellers, Rednecks and Resisters. I decided I couldn’t.
In all honesty,
I could say
I didn’t wish
I could share.
As you pant,
To cold tile,
Dying to live,
Will you think
You’ll never know
Unless you try.
“Don’t be sorry. Just be more careful.”
That’s what a friend’s nana used to say, admonishing us kids after we pled “sorry” for some misdeed.
Those wise words stuck to me, small though I was. They were forward looking, aimed at improvement. What was broken was forever broken. No amount…