Every now and then a person just needs a good screed, a healthy diatribe, a dose of invective, a solid shot of vinegar to cut the treacle.
He even trimmed the few tufts of grass out back, with a sickle no less, one of the many little ways in which Mr. Paul linked you to a simpler time.
“I screamed bloody murder and fell to the floor,” says Barry Boyce. “It would be weeks before I could walk again. I became a patient.”
“The very worst was ‘meat paper,’ loans made to dupes for purchasing a freezerful of meat. Collecting on meat paper left a dismal taste.”
“It is one of the perverse virtues of advanced civilization to have transcended repair and renewal.”
Homesickness is a rich and genuine thing, because it reflects the truth that whatever we admire is decaying and slipping away, even as we admire it.
The roots of a word contain a rich bank of associations and metaphors that reveal the marvelous ways in which disparate ideas link and interrelate.
“I was a styrofoam tar baby. We laughed together about my appearance. My brother told me it was a thankless job and that I had done well. We made a link.”
“Clock time has to do with where we are not. Timing has to do with being where we are, paying attention to what is appropriate to the moment at hand.”
When you gather people together for a feast if you set the time and the table, the food, and the accouterments just right, it can bring grace.
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