Be patient with me over the next year, kid. It’s the end of the beginning. Or perhaps it is the beginning of the end.
…aging on the way to old? Well that is too much. There is too much raw energy, too much bare anger and rage and all the feelings worn on the outside, showing, demanding we look.
Once upon a time, on a late Friday afternoon, there was an itty bitty slip of a thing–or as itty bitty as a 5’9″, thirty year old woman could be. She was so teeny that she wasn’t even wearing a bra and there was no jiggling or jangling. It was like Miracle on 14th Street….
Like many, I waited to see if a piece of history would be leveled. Paris and Hugo and Hemingway. Bells and bell towers, hunchbacks and fear of the marginalized. Asylum, refuge. And above all, the infuriating human trait of naiveté. ***** We humans, sacks of blood and bone, architects of these castles in the sky,…