Anytime a big story breaks, one of my first thoughts is: I hope Florida doesn’t have any connection. I used to think I was the only one entertaining such selfishness until The Hubby, born and raised in the Sunshine State, voiced my concern aloud, only he made it more specific and more plaintive: “Why does every weird story have to have a Miami or Florida connection?” he asked.
For the past week or so, I feel like I’ve been living inside a novel penned by the late great Colombian writer Gabriel Garcia Marquez. The surreal has become acceptable and the absurd commonplace. Reality has turned into a preposterous three-act play.
During the predawn hours, I’ve been removing his books, one by one, from my bookshelves. (My bookshelves, mind you.) He needs to get his own space, anywhere that doesn’t interfere with my literary real estate.
The virtual world has been abuzz with this question, and people have stormed out of the Twitter woodwork and into the analog universe to opine. Yes, some say, Bert and Ernie are most definitely gay. How can anyone think otherwise?
I just finished reading yet another article about happiness. It was about how my state — and the rest of the country — rate on the happiness meter, how the researchers measured such a squishy subject and why it matters.
Many, many things in education have changed, but one ritual that has remained the same, one that still elicits excitement among even the most reluctant back-to-school participants happens to also be my favorite: school supplies shopping.
In case you haven’t noticed, office work is getting a makeover — and I’m not referring to technology. Not only are we retrained in new software several times a year, but we’re also being encouraged to be less sedentary while we fry our brains.
Over the years we forget to cultivate awe. Little by little, without realizing it, we begin to ignore the miracles around us and shake off the spell of a world that is always changing, evolving, moving. We grow blind to mystery. We become adults.