...or at least the first tear after appealing to a tribunal. It's a shame there are tears at tribunal appeals. It may be the prospect of multiple tiers in a long-winded legal process They seem to be in business (a) to ease the flow of would-be immigrants (b) to intervene in extraditions (c) to encourage… Continue reading Cause for Aala m?…
Category: home
Home Journal…
written on 9th August, 2001, as an imaginary letter to a friend I worked with at the time, and who lived in Amersham, near the Old Town. It was she who influenced me to be interested in angels ...of Wasps, Angels and Field-Mice I write this in the garden, after our meal at ASK. The… Continue reading Home Journal…
What is philosophy?…
Transcribed from pages in my notebook, as scanned here. ...endless discussion of concepts worth discarding. Get a clean sheet, and start from scratch. That, if I remember, was how Descartes got started. He holed up on his own in a cold winter with only a wood stove for company, along with pen, paper and ink.… Continue reading What is philosophy?…
catalogue of books continued…
These are some more of my favourite books, the kind you treasure and partially recall, without finding time to refresh your memory. But it's good to read other people's reviews, and recall the flavour of these very different volumes. ID shelf location author title pages description 1 MB3 desk left Sagittarius (Olga Miller) Quiver‘s Choice… Continue reading catalogue of books continued…
The moment
Previously published on 18th April, 2011 I went out to the backyard on Sunday morning. Purpose: to hang washing out on the line. The sky above was blue. There are trees beyond the fence, growing in the children’s playground, and on one of them I saw a little bird, insistently repeating the same note: “Tweet;… Continue reading The moment
Neon or candle light
This is what happened. I'd been soundly asleep till awakened by "someone" coughing, about 1.30 this morning. I went downstairs for a bit, including a "midnight snack" as is my wont, and when I got back the tealight had gone out. We use two or three in the night, it saves turning on my lamp… Continue reading Neon or candle light
English Pancakes
... and how to make them, without tossing in the traditional way — see bottom of this post for instructions Ingredients to make 4 skinny 10-inch pancakes: a blender an egg 2/3 cup of milk tablespoon of plain flour pinch of salt Serve them with juice from a fresh lemon and white sugar. to make:… Continue reading English Pancakes
Mother’s Day Visit
In England, Mother's Day was on Friday March 19th, a celebration for three Jamaican mothers who live in England. We're not in a position to visit them in South-East London, as we don't have a car any more. What with this and that, we weren't able to meet up till last Saturday 20th May. We… Continue reading Mother’s Day Visit
Living in High Wycombe
Wycombe is a great place to live if you don't drive. No traffic jams or parking problems. If you live in Abercromby Road, for example, it's a short walk along Desborough Road to the town centre, with its Eden shopping Mall, library, Hospital. If you are disabled, there are many facilities, including https://www.shopmobilityhighwycombe.co.uk/ You'll pass… Continue reading Living in High Wycombe
Revelations
Got out of bed this morning telling myself there's a close connection between sex and God. On reflection, love has to be in the equation: Love + sex = God This is surely why religion smiles on marriage but not one-night stands. As for homosexual relations, every religion so far as I know has frowned… Continue reading Revelations
How this site got its URL
I transferred my writings to WordPress in 2015. Previously I'd used perpetual-lab.blogspot.com, still visible on archive.com. What name should I give it? I used the name of singer Tabu Ley Rochereau, who often performed with Franco Luambo's TPOK Jazz Band. This had been a favourite of mine since I first discovered African music through some… Continue reading How this site got its URL
Valley Creatures
Days pass. Not much wayfaring and not much writing. The two are connected. I had promised to dedicate a post to Lady in Red, who writes “I love it when you describe the places you walk through, bringing it alive for those of us who can only imagine both the countryside and the industrial areas… Continue reading Valley Creatures
High Wycombe has a Monopoly
from our local newspaper, the Bucks Free Press. I've corrected its numerous typos, excused by the fact that today is its publishing day, and Isabella Perrin was clearly rushed to get the copy ready in time High Wycombe MONOPOLY board release date and locations announced 15th August by Isabella Perrin , @IsabellaHPerrin Senior Digital Journalist… Continue reading High Wycombe has a Monopoly
Fuller just got Emptier
I've been cataloguing my books. They're scattered across the house. Some years ago I got rid of all the IKEA shelves and built my own, as a tribute to this cherished collection. Every volume has its own tale to tell: how was it acquired, why and when? Sometimes memory fails: the tale is lost. Which… Continue reading Fuller just got Emptier
While Unsleeping
A kind of liberation ensues when you accept the situation, displeasing as it may be, that you find yourself in at this moment. For example insomnia & remembrance of past mistakes—to name but one. For me, they are synonymous. Liberation is an art, the act of turning something round the other way. To embrace the… Continue reading While Unsleeping
There’s a Grand Scheme of Things
Is there a grand scheme of things? Yes, this is something I do believe. As to what it is, I cannot directly say: only circumstantially, in reference to what we can see with our own eyes. As I said in my last, politics and public discourse are toxic these days. After hearing what passes as… Continue reading There’s a Grand Scheme of Things
The Idea of Perfection
Perfection certainly doesn’t exist in the seen world. I conclude it must lie in the beholder's eye*. To see only perfection is surely a knack worth having. How we use words is our own business, for such is language; and how they help us understand one another is a great wonder. For some, perfection is… Continue reading The Idea of Perfection
Travelling on Foot
A Wayfarer’s Notes has changed its motto again. Farewell “not-doing”; back to Werner Herzog and his dictum: “The world reveals itself to those who travel on foot.” To be sure what he means, I check context. Patrick House: You once walked from Munich to Paris to visit your dying friend, and in your film “Wheel… Continue reading Travelling on Foot
Clouds and simple things . . .
I like clouds, trees and grass. They help reconnect with my primitive self, which has no care for fashion, technology or politics. So we went to Saunderton Lee, where I photographed flat-bottomed clouds, the sort you get on a day of sunshine and rain, and which first struck me as worthy of note one August… Continue reading Clouds and simple things . . .
Julian of Norwich
. . . all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well. The Web is riddled with orphaned "quotes": mangled versions of what someone—the author or one of his characters—may or may not have said. We use them for our own purposes, with no regard for the… Continue reading Julian of Norwich
Tethered to a Robo-goat
the privacy curtains in all the local hospitals have a landscape of red kites soaring above the Chilterns, with venerable buildings such as Church of St Lawrence with its Golden Ball visible for miles on a hill in West Wycombe, and the Guildhall in the High Street pastel done from life. I climbed up the… Continue reading Tethered to a Robo-goat
How everything fits together
Things fit together, said I. That’s what they are supposed to do, said Karleen. If only we have faith, said I—in the right things, of course. We were having our morning tea in bed while doing the cryptic crossword, where things always fit together, if you puzzle over them enough. The clues fit the answers… Continue reading How everything fits together
Kindness (audio podcast)
click to to access the podcast transcript … I don’t know why, but the pain and the weariness started first thing Sunday morning, February 5th and here it is today, on the 23rd. I don’t even know what. At first, when I was told it was diverticulitis, I took the antibiotic and thought it was… Continue reading Kindness (audio podcast)
Who am I?
Based on jotted ideas recorded while out walking on a winter's day December 20th, 2016 I've been thinking all week about hate, without feeling any hate myself. And also about slogans—how they brainwash us, not into believing what they want us to believe, but by reducing the subtlety of our ideas, preventing us from listening… Continue reading Who am I?
Eternity on the Desborough Road
After the questionnaire, and further Skype-messaging with the lad (a good way to preserve the minutes of our meetings), it was time to meet Karleen for lunch in the pub. As usual on a Friday, I took along the 2-wheel trolley (“cart” in American). Karleen had already paid for our breadfruit, mangoes, yams & plantains… Continue reading Eternity on the Desborough Road
Theology of the Body
It’s a month since I wrote Living in a Body. I’ve been wrestling with a sequel ever since. One was briefly published, and Bryan added some cogent comments, but it was no good, for myriad reasons. Let this post dispose of the matter, the better to move on. As for Not-Doing, whereby, according to Lao-Tzu,… Continue reading Theology of the Body
Black Books
In reality I don’t have a front garden, just a concreted area big enough to hold four bins, for the separated recyclables, and a few plant pots. It also serves to provide a seven-foot gap between our front door and the sidewalk. There’s no separation from our neighbours’ concreted front area, and their front door… Continue reading Black Books
Figures in a landscape
I was walking along Desborough Road this morning, past the little shops and into town. You see every kind of person, it seems, from anywhere on earth. Something struck me about one man, the way he glanced at me as I passed. It seemed to say “My soul soars, but here I am stuck with… Continue reading Figures in a landscape
Brexit Dream 1
I was going to call this "The Vision of Perfection", I'll try and explain later. But then I jotted down the outline of a confused dream I'd just woken from. An interpretation slowly took form. To dream it at all seemed exhausting. There was a great deal of fruitless effort being made, seven nights in… Continue reading Brexit Dream 1
That which is unchosen
On Monday morning I passed through the alleyway that leads to the children’s playground at the back of our house. It’s my shortcut to everywhere. There are “No Dogs” signs but dogs can’t read and their owners don’t care. Emerging from the shortcut into the playground I heard the single word “Unchosen”, as if whispered… Continue reading That which is unchosen
My Life as Art
At the end of my last I promised to be a guinea-pig for the proposal that “we each and everyone be conscious artists, painting our existence on to the canvas of each new day”. What could it mean? Could it be played out practically? Natalie had a suggestion that “to be an artist in one’s… Continue reading My Life as Art
Jua Kali
Jua Kali is Swahili for 'the hot sun' referring to artisans and vendors who work outside. On our dining room wall we've hung a batik picture of Kikuyu tribesmen, bought from an ethnic shop in Edinburgh, like the other things displayed in these photos It’s spring here, and that creates a fruitful restlessness in me,… Continue reading Jua Kali
Rebuilding from within
By day, my bedroom window is transformed into a viewing platform to watch the renascence of my Sun-dial Factory across the road. On April 29th 2013, I wrote a piece beginning: I see things as imbued with meaning, like fragments written in a foreign language. Sometimes I can decipher them; sometimes even put them in… Continue reading Rebuilding from within
The Sun-Dial Factory
I’ve written several times about the factory across from our bedroom and how the morning sun progressively reaches down from the tips of its roof. When you wake and look out, it gives you an idea of what time it is, taking the season into account. On many nights and days too, I see the… Continue reading The Sun-Dial Factory
A comatose fridge, and whatever’s meant to be
The fridge has been in a coma for three weeks. We’ve discovered there’s no hope of a cure. The freezer works normally, but the mechanism which controls the refrigerator compartment has failed. There’s only one moving part: the little door which lets cold air flow to the refrigeration compartment when the thermistor tells it to.… Continue reading A comatose fridge, and whatever’s meant to be
The magic fence
It’s been raining every day for weeks. Catching a cold gave me an additional reason to stay indoors, but the other morning, in the bright lull after a heavy downpour, I ventured out for a couple of errands, taking the usual shortcut to the shops on Ledborough Road, through the derelict school yard and the… Continue reading The magic fence
Night navigation
It was an eventful day, not without its petty annoyances, but our house-guests were happy, that’s the main thing, and enjoyed a merry evening. I was exhausted and as soon as politely possible retired upstairs. My dreams were scantily populated, and their spaces were wide. I was in a tall office building, looking for the… Continue reading Night navigation
Home, James!
All right, I willingly confess to being a technophobe, somewhere between moderate and severe, though I don’t know how they grade these things. I have no shame in the matter: what’s to hide, if they haven’t made it illegal? Not yet, so far as I know. But they marginalise it by stealth, and you cannot… Continue reading Home, James!
Sunday morning, late February
The morning is sunny and warm in the backyard. A noisy bee rejoices among the crocuses. Their purple petals open wide, greedy for the sun’s rays, exposing brilliant orange pollen and their kinship with crocus sativa, source of the dye saffron. More shyly than the extrovert bee, a delicate fly hovers silently just above the… Continue reading Sunday morning, late February
Infinite are the depths
Some days are special gifts but it takes something else, some extra gift to be able to share them. When I say days, I mean moments within days. And when I say special, I refer to some magic visible only to the inner eye. A day is a torrent of moments which pass us by,… Continue reading Infinite are the depths
An exercise in Unknowing
But it is looking like something new in philosophy, and we hope entertaining too, as well as deep. When I say deep, I mean that the reader will be inspired to go deep, without the intellectual exercise being at all painful. The aim (that is, my aim—Bryan can do what he likes) is to understand… Continue reading An exercise in Unknowing
In the thistle-field, at dawn
I lie in bed watching dawn’s rosy fingers light up the house opposite, creeping lower as the hour advances. This street is narrow, its houses joined together (‘terraced’) in a continuous chain on both sides. You’d think there’d be scant room for the low-slanting rays to penetrate. But our house is near the street’s eastern… Continue reading In the thistle-field, at dawn
Perspectives and Remembrance
The emblem of this blog is a weathervane with a gilded Centaur, standing above a cupola on top of the 18th century Guildhall, in the market square of High Wycombe, built where two main valleys cross. There are smaller valleys too. Wherever thou goest, thou canst lift up thine eyes unto the hills, like the… Continue reading Perspectives and Remembrance
On Christmas Eve
The Christmas spirit is a special thing. What is this “Peace on earth, goodwill to all men”? It’s tangible, that’s certain. I always feel that I receive it from others, never that I impart it to them. Or if I do emanate any of the glow, I feel it has been ignited first from a… Continue reading On Christmas Eve
Let them be
I’ve been interested in the conversations of birds since a day in March 1971, in the churchyard of Hinderwell, a village in North Yorkshire. I had chewed a small square of wallpaper, which had been soaked in LSD. I learned the language of the rooks, almost. But that is a story for another day. This… Continue reading Let them be
Everything but the Kitchen Sink
I do feel the urge to philosophize, if only the Muse will allow. She says I must not try the patience of my readers. Oh well, here goes, I’ll start with a sweeping generalisation: “Religion is about perfection, while science and engineering are about trial and error.” Before you have the chance to say “I… Continue reading Everything but the Kitchen Sink
…and a kitchen Sink, too
What is the origin of religion, when we trace it back? Some will believe the books, institutions and preachers, and see a divine order transmitted to receptive human hearts, to save them from brute ignorance and unleavened self-interest. I propose that it comes from the human heart in the first place, in response to a… Continue reading …and a kitchen Sink, too
Wayfaring Again
This is the day I become clear about the purpose of my purposeless journey. Now the task is to express clearly what I see clearly. My path leads more to the past than the future, for “the past is my treasure” as an archaeologist might say. I heard the scraping shovel from behind a hoarding… Continue reading Wayfaring Again
the Springtime of youth
To spare the young man’s blushes I shall abbreviate his name to A—. He’s my nephew by marriage, nearly 15, and goes to a good school. So I was asking him about that, and he told me his vocabulary had become somewhat depleted. He didn’t use the word “depleted” of course. He explained that in… Continue reading the Springtime of youth
We Create Worlds
After my last post, I’ve been drawn to philosophical speculation. How can we talk of one world, except in given contexts, such as world cocoa prices? How can you ask whether there is hope for the world? I would answer, “Whose world are you talking about?” Each of us sees a different world of experience;… Continue reading We Create Worlds
Here I’ll stay
Two years ago, when I’d just moved into this house and couldn’t get online, I’d go to the internet café on the Desborough Road and compose a blog post in an hour. One post, “Being Ordinary”, is an example, perhaps the only one, and didn’t work out too badly. Where did that simple spontaneity go?… Continue reading Here I’ll stay
Champion of the Ordinary
Odour, as complained of in my post Unseen Foe, has been replaced by order, after months of effort. The company responsible for sewerage has written a pleasant letter: “As you are aware our Engineer [—] has visited the site and carried out investigations. Our conclusion is that this is a private issue. Our sewers have… Continue reading Champion of the Ordinary
One’s Own Backyard
It’s tempting with a digital camera to think that a picture is worth a thousand words, so you can just snap something and stick it in a blog, as if it had the power to capture the feeling which made you take the picture. But the camera’s just a soulless eye that delivers aspects of… Continue reading One’s Own Backyard
Up through the floorboards
For weeks, probably months, I’ve been bothered by a fugitive stench, hanging in the air at various places, various times, in the kitchen and dining room, not always the same smell. Every mammal knows not to foul its own nest and the sense of outrage at any fouling by others must be etched deep into… Continue reading Up through the floorboards
A tumbling profusion
The great thing about growing plants—flowers, fruit or vegetables— is that when you grow them close together, or allow random seeds to grow, they arrange themselves. They make accommodation with one another to catch the sun, and achieve a tumbling profusion, such as we may find in wild or semi-wild places. As for my backyard,… Continue reading A tumbling profusion
Risk assessment
Restored on 6th September 2024. Looking in a shoebox of old software packages on CD I discovered this, meaning I'm now able to use my old Access applications again, including one I designed to facilitate an organization to assess its risks and apply for ISO 9001 certification, for which I was in theory a licensed… Continue reading Risk assessment
Dawn song
At four minutes past four a lone blackbird on a chimneypot opposite my house starts his song, tentative but persistent. The sky is lightening, he tells the world. This is no time to stay unconscious. Because he speaks in blackbird language, I don’t really know the meaning of his telling, but only guess that his… Continue reading Dawn song
The Muse is a Jealous Mistress
I hold the art of writing in too high regard to dare call myself writer. I think I shall change my Profile: occupation Gentleman. Writing, like any pastime fit for this kind of person and the female equivalent, is an arena of infinite striving, especially when, as in my case, its only object is to… Continue reading The Muse is a Jealous Mistress
Parallel Paths
I’ve been meaning to write more about happiness, but the topic is elusive to say the least and it seems there has not been enough time. I wasn’t sure until yesterday what this meant (what interval of unbroken time would be enough?), but this morning, rising at 4.30 in the morning I know even more… Continue reading Parallel Paths
Pandora’s Box
I argued with Charles Bergeman a while ago on the topic of happiness: whether, for example, a five-year-old child could have said to its teacher something like: “I don’t want to be anything when I grow up, I just want to be happy.” I said it didn’t ring true and then I promised to write… Continue reading Pandora’s Box
Metaphors
By kindly grace of destiny, I have a whole house to roam in, so there should be no need to go wayfaring outside, where it’s cold, especially as my leg hurts and I’m waiting for the postman, who’s due to deliver a package that won’t fit through the slot in the door. I can roam… Continue reading Metaphors
Crime and Punishment
It’s not dawn yet, but I’ve turned on the heating and lit a candle. Through this study window that keeps a secret eye on the wider world, I see in the street's yellow lamplight the snowflakes falling. I’ve just finished the last few pages of Crime and Punishment, illuminated at the very last by redemption… Continue reading Crime and Punishment
The persistence of selfhood
“You don’t know what you think until you speak.” Which is why I blog. And then there are the extempore comments scattered across cyberspace, wanton and unremembered: pigeons loosed but never coming home to roost for they are not of the homing variety. Or they are seeds broadcast, which engender new life in many a… Continue reading The persistence of selfhood
Act of Penance
Restoring this post from perpetual-lab.blogspot.com on September20th, 2025,I laugh at what I wrote then I have an urge to penance. It is not to punish myself for any particular sin, but to follow an inbuilt impulse towards sackcloth and ashes, that the Bible refers to so many times; as if depriving oneself of physical comfort… Continue reading Act of Penance
Don’t try this at home
I nearly swallowed some extra strong bleach. I can tell you how it happened, but I don’t know how it could happen. Perhaps I unwittingly broke a law of physics. You can’t do that? Tell me what law says you can’t break a law of physics! I don’t know of a law of Nature that… Continue reading Don’t try this at home
Then and Now
Days pass. Not much wayfaring and not much writing. The two are connected. I had promised to dedicate a post to Lady in Red, who writes “I love it when you describe the places you walk through, bringing it alive for those of us who can only imagine both the countryside and the industrial areas… Continue reading Then and Now
Angels disguised as bandits
I passed through the children’s playground. From where I live it’s a pedestrian shortcut into town. Two boys were there, who looked about 8, one with a bandanna tied around his face, like a masked bandit holding up a Wells Fargo coach. At his age I must have done the same. They asked me for… Continue reading Angels disguised as bandits
Memory’s Carillon
I don’t know if there is anyone, even myself, who can quite grasp what I’m getting at here. Whatever “here” means. We live over the street and sleep with the window wide open. The street is small and crowded, each house 12 foot wide and joined to the next. At night it’s utterly silent. No… Continue reading Memory’s Carillon
Resuming normality
The night is full of mysteries. They haunt us when we can't sleep, and there's no one to share them with. That's what prompts me to write here. Meanwhile dawn is coming, sheds light on this side of Earth. The mysteries aren't illuminated, they merely vanish. Dawn blushes red now, over yonder hill. I draw… Continue reading Resuming normality
Bonfire of the vanities
Since this photo, the fire’s gone out after consuming the fence and denuding finally gone out after consuming the adjacent fence and half of the overhanging tree. In the scale of things, gratitude is now in order My next-door neighbour, bottom left in the pic, had complained to the Council about the state of his… Continue reading Bonfire of the vanities
A stroll round the neighbourhood
I shall take you on a guided tour of our part of town. We are in the valley bottom, where the factories were built at the end of the nineteenth century. I don't know what was there before. I haven't seen any houses older than 1872. This area of the Chilterns has plenty of beech… Continue reading A stroll round the neighbourhood
In the Industrial Valley
rescued from archive.com on Saturday September 20th 2025 I shall take you on a guided tour of my part of town. We are in the valley bottom, where the factories were built at the end of the nineteenth century. I don't know what was there before. I haven't seen any houses older than 1872. This… Continue reading In the Industrial Valley
Cherishing the past
Many are they who suppose a blog---such a today thing!---to be ephemeral (“beginning and ending in a day”) in its subject-matter and interest to others. Why should it be so? I celebrate the past, like this stately galleon on the ocean of time, its stern riding proud and high, its prow dipping into the billows… Continue reading Cherishing the past
The Gift Horse
Why do I have to be so like my grandfather? He bought a cheap Ford in 1935 and didn’t give it up, just replaced parts as necessary, till his younger daughter in 1967 (my mother's sister Peggy) told him time was up. Then he drove her VW Beetle till, in his late eighties, he managed… Continue reading The Gift Horse
Finding Companionship in Reading
. . . We need to find the deepest reason for our emotions. The clue came in something delivered through my letterbox yesterday: a “journal for all women interested in spirituality, theology, ministry and liturgy”. It’s not my normal reading, but they sent me a complimentary copy in return for publishing one of my recent… Continue reading Finding Companionship in Reading
Cherry tree
I’ve been wanting to dedicate a whole post to my cherry tree but couldn’t justify it. When commenting on other people’s blogs, I have fewer inhibitions, as in this, to Michael Peverett, re his post “Prunus continued”: . . . I was interested in your prunus pictures because I bought a small fruiting cherry tree… Continue reading Cherry tree
Fresh air
The barrenness of these pages lately means doesn’t mean I’ve not been thinking of offering something to my reader. On the contrary. Though afflicted by a species of writer’s block, I’m not bereft of thoughts and inspirations, and each day scribble them: in Word, on voice recorder, in the black notebook, and failing those, they… Continue reading Fresh air
Stories of animal sagacity
As a child I read Stories of Animal Sagacity, a set of Victorian anecdotes by William Henry Giles Kingston. I didn’t remember his name of course: the World-Wide Web has the full text in facsimile and OCR transcription, with the illustrations reproduced too. Sagacity is a lovely word: it was many years till I came… Continue reading Stories of animal sagacity
Something of the Night
To one who follows his nose as a general principle of life, especially to seek inspiration, it matters when and where the ideas come. Most of the pieces in this blog have been conceived under the sky, preferably walking. “Sit as little as possible; credit no thought not born in the open air and while… Continue reading Something of the Night
Purpose
Outside the supermarket a three-year-old boy was expressing his distress in voice and reddened face. Solicitous, his mother bent down to him. No doubt he had wanted something in the shop and been denied it. He looked like me at that age and in a flash I recalled how I used to behave: a lot… Continue reading Purpose
The constant spring
Sunday morning: I’ve taken my writing-book out to the backyard, where I can sit on this bench and be warmed like a lizard for the first time this year. Surely Spring has arrived! The yard is so tiny, the fences so high, that in winter the sun never reaches the ground: the best it can… Continue reading The constant spring
Slug life
A slug theme has been slithering through my last two posts, leaving the question hanging whether my blocking of cracks in the floor would disturb the migration habits of this humble gastropod. Since I had additionally panelled that corner of the kitchen, fitting the pieces closely, except for one part of the plinth which will… Continue reading Slug life
As a novice
I live in the poorest quarter of town*, sandwiched between factories, some derelict and some still in use like the one directly across the road. Many of the Pakistani owners of houses like mine have let rooms to migrant workers: hundreds of them are engaged on building a new shopping/leisure complex in town. † Their… Continue reading As a novice
Fevered interlude
When you have a virus---cold or flu---it comes and goes in waves, and you don’t know what to do with yourself. I woke in the night, thinking about how to continue my memoirs. There’s plenty left in the pipeline. But after age 21 and before 59, there’s a waste land: not an arid desert, but… Continue reading Fevered interlude