A Long Journey
By Marjorie Roth
No, I’m not talking about a trip in a covered wagon. I’m not talking about a trip to the Camargue, nor a gastronomical trip through Provence. No, I’m talking about life.
The Time Remaining
By Pat Gallagher
The first time the finite nature of human existence entered my mind was a remark uttered by the writer Harris Dulany in 1970. Harris and his wife Barry and their two young daughters were friends of mine. At the time they were living in a rambling brownstone in Fort Greene in Brooklyn. Harris had worked at the Strand Bookstore, famous for its collection and size. He said one day he’d had an epiphany when he was at the bookstore. Gazing at the enormous collection he realized that if he read a book a day he would die before he could read them all. I don’t know why I still remember this incident but the image of books representing the days of a life was compelling. Compared to the thousands of books on hundreds of shelves a lifetime is a very short shelf indeed.
Just Do It!
By Pat Gallagher
What have I always wanted to try? Nothing comes quickly to mind. It probably says something about me that I have a much longer list of things I have absolutely no desire to try: sky-diving, bungee-jumping, para-sailing, scuba diving…the list goes on. I was reminded of this the other day when I saw the photo of my 25-yr-old grandson facing a concrete climbing wall at Twente University in the Netherlands. The 100-foot-high wall is studded with hundreds of colorful hand and toe holds that allow the climber to scale the wall in different ways. In the photo Rik is harnessed up, waiting to ascend. It is his first time.
Acting My Age
By Pat Gallagher
The memory of doing cartwheels with abandon when I was ten years old gives me the shivers now. Watching young children running pell-mell down a slope, tumbling and bouncing back up is distressing. Did I ever do that? I must have. I do remember the Band-Aids and mercurochrome on skinned knees. For many years I didn’t hesitate to lift small children, set ‘em on my hip, sling a bag over my shoulder, and maneuver a stroller down a set or stairs. Now it’s an achievement to simply descend the stairs. Now, lifting my 10-inch cast iron skillet from the drawer beneath the oven requires conscious attention to placing my feet carefully, bending at the hip crease to protect my back, engaging core muscles to protect the rest of my joints, and remembering to breathe. Isn’t it amazing that the breath is such an important element in all this. And “core”? Who knew? Why did no one tell me this seventy-five years ago?! No need then, I guess.
It Seemed Like a Good Idea
By David Schweidel
It seemed like a good idea at the time. Moving you out of your bedroom, I mean.