Are you old enough to remember foreign language laboratories where students strained to hear a question in, for example, German, and answer it correctly in the microphone, all the while desperately hoping the instructor wasn’t listening to you? Yeah, me too. When I was fourteen, my mother decided I would take Latin. It wasn’t a
“My sore throats are always worse than anyone’s.” Jane Austin, timeless observer of human foibles, hit the nail on the head (or should it be the tissue in the hand) when she pointed out that her sore throats were worse than anyone else’s. I think we all feel that way. Today’s featured image is a
NFL Super Bowl XLVIII is history. Super Bowl 48 – the Seattle Seahawks vs. the Denver Broncos (or should I say, Peyton Manning?) Or, as some say, a diversion from the Bruno Mars Half Time Show. But that’s not today’s story. This is a personal story about a man, a dog, a wife, a daughter,
There I was, trying to write a scene in my fictionalized biography of the Pandita Ramabai, and failing. At this point in the story, Rama is nine years old. It’s hard to write from a child’s perspective. The family is in Varanasi, the holiest city in India. Pilgrims and tourists daily arrive in great numbers.