Before we proceed, let's pause out of grief and respect for the ongoing destruction of our beloved Southland. Here's a vignette showing how the basic goodness of our fellows can bubble forth in times of mutual danger. Our family lived on the East side of Lake
In contrast to what he Welsh poet Dylan Thomas (1914—1953) wrote: “Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.” I wanted to offer you dear people a more positve and up-to-date
Fellow condemned: Can we let down our petty competitive veils for a moment And admit what we have had in common? Yes, we've all had moments of joy that kept us enduring The grief, The failures, The disease, The loss of our senses — of smell, of sight, of
On the day after Thanksgiving I sat in front of our gas log in the dark of early morning, as the valley outside filled with fog and my neighbors' rooftops took on the expected white coating of frost, and I felt grateful for the warmth and for being able