How Come Pleasure Never Makes

Without Even Knowing It, We Are Assaulted By A High Note Of Urgency All The Time. We End Up Pacing Ourselves To The City Rhythm Whether Or Not It's Our Own. In Time We Even Grow Hard Of Hearing To The Rest Of The World. Like A Violinist Stuck Next To The Timpani, We May Lose The Ability To Hear Our Own Instrument.

We Owned What We Learned Back There; The Experience And The Growth Are Grafted Into Our Lives.

We Spend January 1st Walking Through Our Lives, Room By Room, Drawing Up A List Of Work To Be Done, Cracks To Be Patched. Maybe This Year, To Balance The List, We Ought To Walk Through The Rooms Of Our Lives...not Looking For Flaws, But For Potential.

It Is Not That Fathers Are Better Or Worse, Not That They Are More Loved Or Criticized, But Rather That They Are Viewed With Far Less Intensity. There Is No Philip Roth Or Woody Allen Or Nancy Friday Who Writes About Fathers With A Runaway Excess Of Humor, Horror ... Feeling. Most Of Us Let Our Fathers Off The Hook.

Women Have Gained Access To The Institutions, But Not Enough Power To Overhaul Them.