I cannot stop thinking about my trip to Boston, a place I have not visited for years and years and years. I have been holding special memories of Boston for a long time. Travel, even if only a short train ride away to a different city, provides a pause that enables one to meditate on… Read more »
“Every reader, as he reads, is actually the reader of himself. The writer’s work is only a kind of optical instrument he provides the reader so he can discern what he might never have seen in himself without this book. The reader’s recognition in himself of what the book says is the proof of the… Read more »
“We are healed of a suffering only by experiencing it to the full.” Marcel Proust Pain is ephemeral to me. It’s hard to describe. When it’s gone…I forget how it felt, how bad it was. I just remember that I had been in pain. I vaguely remember abject pain–after my laminoplasty–the neurosurgery performed on my… Read more »
As I have a turntable again, I played my parents’ old vinyl recording called An Evening with Yves Montand. It’s from the 1950’s. It’s a recording of Montand’s first American tour. I think they might have seen him at Carnegie Hall. On it is a song called Les petits riens quotidiens… Alas, I cannot find… Read more »