I am most grateful to Joy Stocke at the terrific Wild River Review, for asking me to write an essay on the suicide deaths of both my brothers, Bernie and Ronnie. This is the anniversary week of their deaths. The essay is called "April is the Cruelest Month" and if you would like to read it, please visit Wild River Review. And a blessed Easter/Passover to everyone.
Another Christmas gone and another new year on the way. I woke up this morning to find three deer sleeping in the back garden. It’s quite a normal thing to see them out there, lying close together, delicate legs tucked underneath them on the thick bed of leaves we pile up back there in the woods, eyes closed, obviously believing it’s a nice safe place. I take it as a sort of compliment animals feel safe in my garden, and I only shush them away when they’re eating the roses growing close to the house. Other than that, I figure there’s enough for all -- deer and ...
Unlike a writer I know, Louise, who lives inconveniently in Alaska, where she suffers terribly from depression during the dark winters months, I adore the short days and long nights of this season. My complaint is that summer is too long, and winter too short down here in New Jersey. I am, I'm afraid, rather melancholy by disposition, and thus this season suits me. During the pre-solstice season I...
I learned this morning that author David Foster Wallace hanged himself on Saturday. He was 46, and his wife found him. I didn't know David personally, and I can't say I thought everything he wrote was successful, but even his failures were magnificent, brave and worthy. I aspire to as much.
I have no idea if Mr. Wallace was an alcoholic/addict himself. Some say he was, some say he wasn't. I say it's none of my business. However, I do know he was a tremendously insightful chronicler...
