Addiction
Deer, drunks and the search for meaning
Another Christmas gone and another new year on the way. I woke up this morning to find three deer sleeping in the back garden. It’s quite a normal thing to see them out there, lying close together, delicate legs tucked underneath them on the thick bed of leaves we pile up back there in the…
Read MoreInto the dark midwinter (with glimmers)
And the best of all ways To lengthen our days Is to steal a few hours from the night, my dear. — Thomas Moore Unlike a writer I know, Louise, who lives inconveniently in Alaska, where she suffers terribly from depression during the dark winters months, I adore the short days and long nights of…
Read MoreInfinite Tragedy
David Foster Wallace — photo by Marion Ettinger I learned this morning that author David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Saturday. He was 46, and his wife found him. I didn’t know David personally, and I can’t say I thought everything he wrote was successful, but even his failures were magnificent, brave and worthy. I…
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