I know it's been ages since we've talked. I'm so sorry about that, summer you know, all the stuff and work and of course patios to visit and such. Well, I say "busy" but I mean "lazy", it's opposite.
No worries right, here we are again and I thank a lovely reader who pointed out that it has been a long while since we've gotten together.
I am reading a wonderful column in my beloved NYT which I would like to share with you. It goes like this, and I relate to it in the Pavlovian way I check my inbox. There's something here, and I'll of course opine more but do read this brief essay:
As a carryover from childhood camps, I still instinctively check my mailbox with excitement. At camp, when I felt homesick, the arrival of mail from family was a reminder that I was not forgotten, that somewhere in the great world, though not here, my existence was written boldly in another’s ledger. Now, despite my Pavlovian reflex, browsing my mail is not merely unexciting but depressing.