Thursday, September 10, 2009

Strength

Yesterday was the boys' first day of school, and I had planned to post something about it, but I didn't bring the camera to school and they're both sort of "over" me taking their picture and this year, since they're boys and I have a bit of a double standard, they weren't wearing new clothes (Oliver had on too-tight orange shorts and a Beatles Yellow Submarine tee-shirt, and Henry wore green shorts with a blue Vol-Com tee-shirt.). They didn't even have new shoes on. Times are tough (something that I haven't blogged about and I'm refusing to).

Anyway, this post isn't going to be about the first day of school. It's about a morning much like any other, except that it's tinged with excitement and not drudgery. A day much like all the other school days but because these include Sophie, are perhaps different than most. Sophie had her usual big bout of seizures when she woke up, and Henry had to sit by her for part of the time so that I could cook eggs and toast. He sat by her, keeping her safe until she really started to move off the bed and then he called me and I left the eggs in the pan and ran into her room. There's not much to do during these bouts, not much to do but keep reciting Lord Have Mercy, Christ Have Mercy, Lord Have Mercy, Christ Have Mercy, or Sat Nam, Sat Nam, Sata Nama, Sata Nama or The Lord is My Shepherd, I Shall Not Want, or look deep into Sophie's eyes when they aren't staring to the right with a frenzied expression, that she must stop, please stop, tell your brain to stop. I veer around from desperation to a Stepford-like calm. I wonder, fleetingly, if there's a protocol to this, how to behave, what to think, how to move on, how to accept the situation.  I hold her arms and smooth the hair on her forehead. I never stop believing and hoping that perhaps I CAN heal her by touch so I put all my intention toward her and will the seizures to STOP. And then I berate myself for trying to control what is clearly not controllable, an impossible dialectic that is only occasionally bordered by real tears. And then it does stop. And Sophie sits up and hums. And I get up, my heart pounding (and start thinking about how that litttle stressful episode is worth another pound or two if chronic stress causes weight gain) and I go to the kitchen and shake the scrambled eggs onto toast, just the way Oliver likes them and turn over  an egg, easy, just like Henry likes them.

All of this leads me to my very first kundalini yoga class in some months. I was there, today, after I dropped the boys off at school and The Husband (who came back from work where he had been since 6 am) took Sophie to her school. I lay on my sheepskin on top of my mat and did the poses and the breath came back to me as if no time had passed. I felt a residual strength in my core that surprised me and the floating away of my anxiety that surprised me even more. And in the middle of a meditation, as I breathed in and out and thought through the thoughts and watched them go by, I saw as if a word were a substance, floating in front of my eye, my third eye, actually, STRENGTH.. And in that moment I knew without words that I am strong and that earlier in the morning, I was strong. And all the other mornings and even the middle of the nights were the same. And that was the way to be. Just strong. And I must be gloriously strong because tears fell from my eyes it felt so simple. Being with Sophie in the morning like I am, even on the days when I want to shout and cry and gnash my teeth, I am strong. I can't tell you why this seemed like a breakthrough, but when I saw it I felt strong. Pure. Clean.

Yoga is an amazing thing (even if you're embarrassed by its hipness).

Wednesday, September 9, 2009

Evidently, It's Not Happening, Yet




Q: Is there any cause for optimism?
A: Well, personally, yeah. Everybody's got a life to lead and they've got a bodhisattva tendency, everybody wants to do good, so I just think on a personal level, yeah. On a larger scale, there doesn't seem to be any hope unless compassion becomes a more widespread important teaching on how to live. Compassion to self and others.

–Allen Ginsberg, from "Spontaneous Intelligence: An Interview with Allen Ginsberg," Tricycle, Fall 1995

Tuesday, September 8, 2009

A Last Hurrah

you've got to click and make this bigger to really see it!


I took the boys and Sophie to Santa Monica yesterday late in the afternoon. Frankly, summer is gasping, and so am I. We didn't want to do the whole drag everything down to the beach since it was incredibly crowded with Labor Day people, so we decided to rent bicycles and ride toward the Santa Monica Pier. I had brought Sophie's stroller and figured I could just stroll her while the boys rode, but then I decided to cart Sophie along behind me in one of those carts meant for two toddlers. Sophie is fourteen and of average height, but she's very light and likes to sit with her legs crossed, so she seemed comfortable and I was thrilled at the prospect of some exercise. The sun was sparkling in that late summer way on the ocean, sailboats were twinkling by and everything was rosy. The bike path was mobbed with cyclists, but the boys were doing well and we just kept riding. We passed families barbecuing, people playing volleyball, surfers changing out of wet suits and flashing their skin, homeless people rooting through trashcans and a whole beach of exercise hoops and rings and a tightrope walker who had the blackest skin and the biggest, rippling muscles the boys had ever seen (click on the photo above and see him up close!). It was there, at the outdoor "gym," that we stopped and watched for a while, marveling at all the athletic prowess. And it was there that Sophie started having one of her long clusters of seizures, the kind where her arms and legs thrust out. Where she bucks like a wild horse and groans. This went on for probably twenty minutes, during which I did what I always do: crouch over her,  it's all right it's all right and try to keep her from banging her elbows and feet. I was sweating in the sun and I suddenly lost my temper, but only INSIDE MY HEAD. Meaning, I thought I wish I could kill myself right now. I wish  we were dead. If you're worried, don't be. This feeling doesn't come often and I imagine that many of us who do this job over and over day in and day out for years and years have it. The beauty of this blog is that I have a space, a place to write it. It doesn't feel like a secret and wear me out.

Thank you for listening.
My last hurrah is actually for the summer.

And this is for you, courtesy of Albert Einstein:

Strange is our situation here upon earth. Each of us comes for a short visit, not knowing why, yet sometimes seeming to a divine purpose. From the standpoint of daily life, however, there is one thing we do know: That we are here for the sake of others...for the countless unknown souls with whose fate we are connected by a bond of sympathy. Many times a day, I realize how much my outer and inner life is built upon the labors of people, both living and dead, and how earnestly I must exert myself in order to give in return as much as I have received.
Albert Einstein

Monday, September 7, 2009

Unless Perverse Subliminal Messages Are Included And We Can't See Them,

here is the message that President Obama plans on giving tomorrow to our schoolchildren. Perhaps the President and his devious elves took out the socialist brainwashing stuff, but folks, I stand firm, here, still in disbelief that people have objected to opt out of this (and I cut and pasted this from some website, so the google ads are stuck in the middle, brainwashing all of you):


Prepared Remarks of President Barack Obama's Back to School Event

Arlington, Virginia
Tuesday, Sept. 8, 2009
The President: Hello everyone — how's everybody doing today? I'm here with students at Wakefield High School in Arlington, Virginia. And we've got students tuning in from all across America, kindergarten through twelfth grade. I'm glad you all could join us today.

I know that for many of you, today is the first day of school. And for those of you in kindergarten, or starting middle or high school, it's your first day in a new school, so it's understandable if you're a little nervous. I imagine there are some seniors out there who are feeling pretty good right now, with just one more year to go. And no matter what grade you're in, some of you are probably wishing it were still summer, and you could've stayed in bed just a little longer this morning.
I know that feeling. When I was young, my family lived in Indonesia for a few years, and my mother didn't have the money to send me where all the American kids went to school. So she decided to teach me extra lessons herself, Monday through Friday — at 4:30 in the morning.  

Now I wasn't too happy about getting up that early. A lot of times, I'd fall asleep right there at the kitchen table. But whenever I'd complain, my mother would just give me one of those looks and say, "This is no picnic for me either, buster."

So I know some of you are still adjusting to being back at school. But I'm here today because I have something important to discuss with you. I'm here because I want to talk with you about your education and what's expected of all of you in this new school year.

Now I've given a lot of speeches about education. And I've talked a lot about responsibility.

I've talked about your teachers' responsibility for inspiring you, and pushing you to learn.

I've talked about your parents' responsibility for making sure you stay on track, and get your homework done, and don't spend every waking hour in front of the TV or with that Xbox.

I've talked a lot about your government's responsibility for setting high standards, supporting teachers and principals, and turning around schools that aren't working where students aren't getting the opportunities they deserve.

But at the end of the day, we can have the most dedicated teachers, the most supportive parents, and the best schools in the world — and none of it will matter unless all of you fulfill your responsibilities. Unless you show up to those schools; pay attention to those teachers; listen to your parents, grandparents and other adults; and put in the hard work it takes to succeed.

And that's what I want to focus on today: the responsibility each of you has for your education. I want to start with the responsibility you have to yourself.

Every single one of you has something you're good at. Every single one of you has something to offer. And you have a responsibility to yourself to discover what that is. That's the opportunity an education can provide.

Maybe you could be a good writer — maybe even good enough to write a book or articles in a newspaper — but you might not know it until you write a paper for your English class. Maybe you could be an innovator or an inventor — maybe even good enough to come up with the next iPhone or a new medicine or vaccine — but you might not know it until you do a project for your science class. Maybe you could be a mayor or a Senator or a Supreme Court Justice, but you might not know that until you join student government or the debate team.

And no matter what you want to do with your life — I guarantee that you'll need an education to do it. You want to be a doctor, or a teacher, or a police officer? You want to be a nurse or an architect, a lawyer or a member of our military? You're going to need a good education for every single one of those careers. You can't drop out of school and just drop into a good job. You've got to work for it and train for it and learn for it.

And this isn't just important for your own life and your own future. What you make of your education will decide nothing less than the future of this country. What you're learning in school today will determine whether we as a nation can meet our greatest challenges in the future.

You'll need the knowledge and problem-solving skills you learn in science and math to cure diseases like cancer and AIDS, and to develop new energy technologies and protect our environment. You'll need the insights and critical thinking skills you gain in history and social studies to fight poverty and homelessness, crime and discrimination, and make our nation more fair and more free. You'll need the creativity and ingenuity you develop in all your classes to build new companies that will create new jobs and boost our economy.

We need every single one of you to develop your talents, skills and intellect so you can help solve our most difficult problems. If you don't do that — if you quit on school — you're not just quitting on yourself, you're quitting on your country.

Now I know it's not always easy to do well in school. I know a lot of you have challenges in your lives right now that can make it hard to focus on your schoolwork.

I get it. I know what that's like. My father left my family when I was two years old, and I was raised by a single mother who struggled at times to pay the bills and wasn't always able to give us things the other kids had. There were times when I missed having a father in my life. There were times when I was lonely and felt like I didn't fit in.

So I wasn't always as focused as I should have been. I did some things I'm not proud of, and got in more trouble than I should have. And my life could have easily taken a turn for the worse.

But I was fortunate. I got a lot of second chances and had the opportunity to go to college, and law school, and follow my dreams. My wife, our First Lady Michelle Obama, has a similar story. Neither of her parents had gone to college, and they didn't have much. But they worked hard, and she worked hard, so that she could go to the best schools in this country.

Some of you might not have those advantages. Maybe you don't have adults in your life who give you the support that you need. Maybe someone in your family has lost their job, and there's not enough money to go around. Maybe you live in a neighborhood where you don't feel safe, or have friends who are pressuring you to do things you know aren't right.

But at the end of the day, the circumstances of your life — what you look like, where you come from, how much money you have, what you've got going on at home — that's no excuse for neglecting your homework or having a bad attitude. That's no excuse for talking back to your teacher, or cutting class, or dropping out of school. That's no excuse for not trying.

Where you are right now doesn't have to determine where you'll end up. No one's written your destiny for you. Here in America, you write your own destiny. You make your own future.

That's what young people like you are doing every day, all across America.

Young people like Jazmin Perez, from Roma, Texas. Jazmin didn't speak English when she first started school. Hardly anyone in her hometown went to college, and neither of her parents had gone either. But she worked hard, earned good grades, got a scholarship to Brown University, and is now in graduate school, studying public health, on her way to being Dr. Jazmin Perez.

I'm thinking about Andoni Schultz, from Los Altos, California, who's fought brain cancer since he was three. He's endured all sorts of treatments and surgeries, one of which affected his memory, so it took him much longer — hundreds of extra hours — to do his schoolwork. But he never fell behind, and he's headed to college this fall.

And then there's Shantell Steve, from my hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Even when bouncing from foster home to foster home in the toughest neighborhoods, she managed to get a job at a local health center; start a program to keep young people out of gangs; and she's on track to graduate high school with honors and go on to college.

Jazmin, Andoni and Shantell aren't any different from any of you. They faced challenges in their lives just like you do. But they refused to give up. They chose to take responsibility for their education and set goals for themselves. And I expect all of you to do the same.

That's why today, I'm calling on each of you to set your own goals for your education — and to do everything you can to meet them. Your goal can be something as simple as doing all your homework, paying attention in class, or spending time each day reading a book. Maybe you'll decide to get involved in an extracurricular activity, or volunteer in your community. Maybe you'll decide to stand up for kids who are being teased or bullied because of who they are or how they look, because you believe, like I do, that all kids deserve a safe environment to study and learn. Maybe you'll decide to take better care of yourself so you can be more ready to learn. And along those lines, I hope you'll all wash your hands a lot, and stay home from school when you don't feel well, so we can keep people from getting the flu this fall and winter.

Whatever you resolve to do, I want you to commit to it. I want you to really work at it.

I know that sometimes, you get the sense from TV that you can be rich and successful without any hard work -- that your ticket to success is through rapping or basketball or being a reality TV star, when chances are, you're not going to be any of those things.

But the truth is, being successful is hard. You won't love every subject you study. You won't click with every teacher. Not every homework assignment will seem completely relevant to your life right this minute. And you won't necessarily succeed at everything the first time you try.

That's OK.  Some of the most successful people in the world are the ones who've had the most failures. JK Rowling's first Harry Potter book was rejected twelve times before it was finally published. Michael Jordan was cut from his high school basketball team, and he lost hundreds of games and missed thousands of shots during his career. But he once said, "I have failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed."

These people succeeded because they understand that you can't let your failures define you — you have to let them teach you. You have to let them show you what to do differently next time. If you get in trouble, that doesn't mean you're a troublemaker, it means you need to try harder to behave. If you get a bad grade, that doesn't mean you're stupid, it just means you need to spend more time studying.

No one's born being good at things, you become good at things through hard work. You're not a varsity athlete the first time you play a new sport. You don't hit every note the first time you sing a song. You've got to practice. It's the same with your schoolwork. You might have to do a math problem a few times before you get it right, or read something a few times before you understand it, or do a few drafts of a paper before it's good enough to hand in.

Don't be afraid to ask questions. Don't be afraid to ask for help when you need it. I do that every day. Asking for help isn't a sign of weakness, it's a sign of strength. It shows you have the courage to admit when you don't know something, and to learn something new. So find an adult you trust — a parent, grandparent or teacher; a coach or counselor — and ask them to help you stay on track to meet your goals.

And even when you're struggling, even when you're discouraged, and you feel like other people have given up on you — don't ever give up on yourself. Because when you give up on yourself, you give up on your country.

The story of America isn't about people who quit when things got tough. It's about people who kept going, who tried harder, who loved their country too much to do anything less than their best.

It's the story of students who sat where you sit 250 years ago, and went on to wage a revolution and found this nation. Students who sat where you sit 75 years ago who overcame a Depression and won a world war; who fought for civil rights and put a man on the moon. Students who sat where you sit 20 years ago who founded Google, Twitter and Facebook and changed the way we communicate with each other.

So today, I want to ask you, what's your contribution going to be? What problems are you going to solve? What discoveries will you make? What will a president who comes here in twenty or fifty or one hundred years say about what all of you did for this country? 

Your families, your teachers, and I are doing everything we can to make sure you have the education you need to answer these questions. I'm working hard to fix up your classrooms and get you the books, equipment and computers you need to learn. But you've got to do your part too. So I expect you to get serious this year. I expect you to put your best effort into everything you do. I expect great things from each of you. So don't let us down — don't let your family or your country or yourself down. Make us all proud. I know you can do it.

Thank you, God bless you, and God bless America.

Digging Deep





The Dream Keeper

Bring me all of your dreams,
You dreamer,
Bring me all your
Heart melodies
That I may wrap them
In a blue cloud-cloth
Away from the too-rough fingers
Of the world.

-Langston Hughes

Sunday, September 6, 2009

Sunday Sermon

I haven't told you, but I got into a bit of a blog snafu the other day (who ME? A snafu?). I read, regularly, the blog of a person who writes well and passionately about causes that she really believes in. Her opinions are usually very well thought out and I enjoy reading them because they are the polar oppposite to my own, politically. Last Friday she wrote a bit about this education debate and the address that Obama is going to give this Tuesday to public school children. In her comment section (and I'm not giving the link because I know my own readers and most would find it incendiary!), though, were several remarks that I personally found ignorant and outrageous, the sort of stuff you hear on prime-time cable news -- you know the stuff that Rush and Glen and all the other buffoons espouse and then fan into hysteria -- anyway, I opened my very big mouth and quicker typing fingers and shot off a comment of my own that then engendered what I wouldn't call a discussion but a defense of what this blogger said. And in one of those comments the word racist was flung, the insinuation being that since I'd made a sarcastic remark about Texas being the source of all this bullshit about the Obama speech and how I was glad that I didn't live in Texas, well, I was a racist.

And that made me MAD AS HELL. But  the person who called me a racist was actually, really ignorant about what a racist is and what it actually meant. And when the dust settled and she had apologized quite gracefully and I had compromised by admitting to some prejudices, all seemed well.

And I walked around most of the weekend, thinking about the exchange and at turns feeling sickened by not so much it, the "debate" in the comment section of a blog, but by the significance of The Thing. By my certainty that what is happening in this country around Obama is something unprecedented, something almost unclean and deeply, deeply serious. And it makes me nervous and anxious and almost ready to get the hell out of Dodge and move to another country. I don't want to make peace with people who listen to Rush and Glen Beck and wear guns at town hall meetings because they can. I don't want to come to some sort of compromise with people who keep asking whether Obama has certified that he was born in this country. I don't want to be friends with people who think their children are going to be brainwashed by socialism if they listen to the President give a twenty minute speech in their public school classroom. I don't want to be compassionate toward those who throw around the terms "pull yourself up by your bootstraps" and "liberty" in the same sentence while they advocate torture and innocent slaughter of tens of thousands of people in countries tens of thousands of miles away.  Perhaps I'm growing more and more intolerant, but I'm just weary of trying to be tolerant of the intolerant. Because the truth is that I don't care if my children are educated about socialism, and I don't care whether the phrase "under God" is in the Pledge of Allegiance or not. I don't care what public official has had what kind of affair with whomever, as long as it's not interfering with his duties as a public servant. I really don't care.

I could rant and rant forever, I suppose, but I won't. I'm tired.

And now I'll direct you to the most kick-ass Sunday Sermon I've read in a long time, from my friend Ms. Moon at Bless Our Hearts. Go read it by clicking HERE.
(and now do I say, God Bless America?)!!!!!

Saturday, September 5, 2009

Not Mello



One of the benefits of living in this crazy town is sights like this, seen today in Beverly Hills by my friend D and I. I guess you could say it's a mixed benefit because really what makes one more sick than a bright yellow Rolls Royce? We had just gone to the movie "District 9" that I HATED. On the way out of the women's bathroom after the movie, I practically ran into a guy who was holding two American Girl dolls in his arms, clearly waiting for his daughter who was inside. I made eye contact because he looked so goofy, holding the dolls and then I simultaneously realized that it was Marky Mark, Mark Wahlberg.

Only in LA. (But the skies are oh so blue and the fires appear to be contained for now and the light is just golden in a transparent way).

Because I'm Being Obtuse

of late, I think that I should perhaps come clean. The image, below, of the stones, a cairn I think it's called is something we came upon two weeks ago in Yosemite. Someone had built these beautiful symbols of tranquillity and balance in the creek. They are clean and pure.

These are the things I'm thinking about these days, hiding behind wit and irony and projecting onto the issues of the day:

1. Sophie is doing well but it's tiresome to care for her day in and day out, always feeling guilty that I'm not doing enough and knowing full well that it is enough to love.
2. Scared shitless that my respite care, already minimal, is going to be cut.
3. Ignoring a shrinking bank account, knowing that I can't really afford the help I have but not seeing a way out. I'll go insane.
4. Opening my eyes in the morning and running through my worries, literally, for the first time in my life. I used to be a morning person.
5. A flailing through the spiritual and waiting, perhaps impatiently, for grace.
6. Wondering what the long-term effects of this embattled life and feelings are doing to my boys.
7. Aware simultaneously that I need to meditate more often, pray, exercise and this is all illusion.

And that's all. The rest is obfuscation.

Stones and Silence



Stones
Silence
Sameness
Sadness
Sorrow
Simple
Softness

Friday, September 4, 2009

Since the Country's Clearly Gone Mad

I think that I'll relate our lunchtime conversation today. The Players are:

Henry: Age 11
Oliver: Age 8
Me: Age 46
Sophie: Age 14

Henry: Do you think I'll be alive when the world ends?

Me: Why do you ask?

Oliver: Scientists say the world is ending in 2012.

Henry: That's three years.

Me: I don't think scientists say that.

Both: Yeah, they do. There's a movie about it.

Me: Nah. People are always saying the world is going to end. Always have.

Sophie: MMMMMMMMM.

Henry: Oliver will one day fart so loudly, the world will end.

Oliver: Yeah. An atomic fart.

All: (dissolve into uproarious laughter, showing peanut butter and pretzel teeth)

Clearly, my children would BENEFIT from a message from their President.

Freaking Freedom Out Friday


Dear Mr. President,

I'm so confused about why people don't want the President of the United States speaking to their children about staying in school and getting a good education. Are you going to come on the loudspeaker and pre-empt the lunch menu announcement or something? Anyway, I wish that my children could hear the President of the United States speak directly to them, but their school doesn't start until Wednesday.

Good luck with all the nutty folks who are scared that you're going to come over the system and implant socialist thoughts into their precious brains.

Sincerely,
Elizabeth

Thursday, September 3, 2009

Day 76


This is Day 76 of Summer Vacation 2009. Due to the fires and poor air quality, days 70-76 have been spent mostly inside. It's 11:00 in the morning and we're all still in our pajamas. I have to say that given the state of affairs, I've surrendered completely. I am doing absolutely nothing as a parent but providing meals and even those are haphazard. Henry and Oliver, to their credit, have been amusing themselves beautifully. This morning, they bandaged Oliver's "broken" leg and constructed this helicopter pad for their remote control AirHog helicopter. In the background, one can catch a glimpse of the Lego Eiffel Tower.

As for Sophie, she's roaming around her room, half-dressed as well. I feel a bit guilty that I'm not doing much with her, either. Yesterday, I got the call from our Regional Center that respite care will be cut drastically in thirty days unless I appeal. I'm going to appeal, but perhaps I'll take Senator Coburn's advice and go knocking on my neighbors' doors to get some help (here's another chance to read a brilliant blog post by a friend if you click on the senator's name).

I'm going to change into some clothes and perhaps take a shower.
Posted by Picasa

Wednesday, September 2, 2009

Something I Might Need to Work On


An interesting quote:

Generally speaking, it is better to keep one's own tradition. It is more suitable. But among some people—in the West they are usually Christians, Jews, and to some extent, Muslims—there is an interest in Buddhism. Sometimes, because of their individual mental dispositions, they do not find much in their own tradition that is effective, but they still want a spiritual practice. They feel a strong pull toward Buddhism, and then, of course, it is their right to follow Buddhism. After all, all religions belong to humanity. What's important is that once we make a decision to follow another religion, we must keep in our minds that we must avoid criticizing our own previous tradition. We must show respect for it.

–The 14th Dalai Lama, from "Ethics for a Secular Millennium: An Interview with the Dalai Lama,"Tricycle, Fall 2001

Tuesday, September 1, 2009

Books


I'm finishing up John Updike's self-professed "favorite book I've written" The Centaur. It's weird, weird, weird and very wonderful. I bought a second edition for $22.00 at a fabulous bookstore in Venice (that's Beach, not Italy), so it has that crinkly cover and smells good. I've come to John Updike and fallen in love late in life, I think, for someone who considers herself pretty damn well-read. The novels of Updike that I've read are so of their time, of the social mores of the forties through the seventies, and the awful banality of work and marriage, the onset of corporate culture and concomitant loss of identity. Some would say they're misogynistic in tone and the women aren't completely fleshed out, but I'm seduced by the language, the old-fashioned style of it, the craft and industry that appears effortless. There's a hardness to the male intellect in these books that I'm drawn to right now in my life -- but...

when I'm finished I'm dashing out to Chevalier's (see my sidebar for the link) to pick up a copy of Lorrie Moore's new novel, the first in eleven years! I came to Lorrie Moore when I lived in New York City and read her short story "People Like That Are the Only People Here: Canonical Babbling in Peed Onk" in The New Yorker. Sophie had already been diagnosed when I read it, a story of a small boy who has cancer and the wry, devastated voice of his mother telling it, and I was so taken by it that I ripped it out of the magazine and carried it around with me for years. It became a touchstone of sorts, something that I referred to over and over as I navigated our own treacherous journey. It sits, now, in a folder in my file cabinet, dog-eared and thin, the file marked "Important Articles." The short story went on to win an O.Henry prize, I believe, and then appeared in Moore's last published book Birds of America. The new novel is something I can happily (albeit nerdily) say that I've anticipated for a long time!

All this....just because. It's not ALL FIRES, ALL HELLFIRE and ALL GO TO HELL around here ALL THE TIME!

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