Let’s get it started.

  This will be short, because we have work to to. It may also be obvious to you, but it wasn’t for me. So here goes. I was lying in bed one night recently, catching up on the unimportant, non-depressing kinds of news, when I ran across an essay by Bobbi Brown about her decision…

I beg you: Art. Harder.

On Monday I had to put on my big girl pants, by which I mean quite literally the black stretchy pants with the wide and forgiving elastic waistband. I have done little but eat and drink with reckless abandon since November 10. On November 9 I was too depressed to eat. In the initial days…

5 years in Hipstamatic.

Cheers, 2017; I’m watching you. And thanks to the folks at Hipstamatic for five years of happiness in picture-making.

Four quotes and a (short) movie.

My second favorite Eric Ries quote begins this way: “Zero invites imagination….” The context for the quote is the world of business, start-ups in particular. The idea, extrapolating a bit, is that imagination lives in a place without restraint, specific points of reference, judgment or relativism – all of those things being important, perhaps, at…

Christmas, 1940.

Because Christmas falls on a Wednesday this particular year, the boy wakes on Monday without any particular plans. On Sunday they had done their Sunday things – church and lunch at Nana’s house. On Tuesday they would do Christmas Eve things. Monday, the day in between, begins empty. It will be a long time, a…

Oh mighty Dionysus.

Instead, I hope to leave you hungry and wanting, not quite satisfied. Normal for this week, following a routine I put in place three years ago, would mean drafting and then publishing a 20 minute free-write in which I would list all the things that have brought me happiness in the past 12 months. And…

Under the Boolean radar.

I was going to write my annual post with book recommendations. But then, unexpectedly, I found where Nancy Pearl has been hiding. To be more accurate, and probably fairer, I accidentally stumbled upon Nancy Pearl’s Twitter feed during one of my Twitter drive-bys (my relationship with Twitter is complicated). Re-finding Nancy Pearl was like seeing…

The maidenhair tree.

Juliet left school, through the 8th grade double doors, on Tuesday at 3:52, according to the big, round clock in the hallway. Her last class, English, had ended early, at 2:55, when Mrs. Wimmer had grabbed Catherine, caught passing a vulgar note, and marched wordlessly to the principal’s office. They had sat at their desks…