I don’t know why such a simple thing like feeding the birds should make me feel so out-of-step with the rest of the world. It’s something I often feel. But bird feeding? It’s that our world has become obsessed with being special, I think. Special houses. Special cars. Special jobs. Special children. Nothing ordinary is tolerated any more. Everyone has a specialty. Or is supposed to. Everyone excels. It’s no...
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It has been many years that I have lived here. I came to live here in a most round-about way, and in spite of desperately wanting to leave for most of those years, here is where I have lived. Children have grown up. Left. Come back. Left again. Usually leaving a cat or two. Once even three. I live on the ground floor. Except for the laundry room, the entire floor is mine alone. I read here. I eat here. I sleep here. I write here....
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