If my wife had been as discriminating picking husbands as she is picking Christmas trees, I can only assume we wouldn’t be married. Continue reading “My wife knows how to pick a fine specimen (a Christmas tree, of course).”
Love, of course, is tumultuous — ‘throes’ of passion, ‘stormy’ romance — but is it too much to ask to be in love and be at peace?
The tragedy of Anna Karenina, one of the books on my Mid-Life Reading Crisis list, is that she has to choose. Continue reading “‘Make it so that I am at peace’: Thoughts on Anna Karenina”
Two days ago I turned 43. An age with no consequence whatsoever, other than offering an opportunity to obsess over one’s age. Which, come to think of it, will be the main function of all the rest of my birthdays for the rest of my life.