Shards of others
Hi friends,
It’s technically not fall—though pumpkin spice latte season is in full swing and I definitely saw Christmas displays in August at some big box store. So, who even knows anymore.
As Anne Carson says, time is “just a meaning that we impose on motion.”
It’s 80 degrees here. The heat burrows into your pores—but still the jasmine sings.
I’ve been making fun of myself lately. When you grow up in a very hot place, like Tucson, your ability to endure heat becomes a weird source of pride.
Masochism as identity!
Is it like that for you? I think it’s true when you grow up in a very cold place, too. Or maybe anywhere.
But I haven’t lived in Tucson for many, many years and now wilt like a hot house flower in conditions that aren’t decidedly tropical.
Anyway, it’s my birthday this month, and Vika’s taking me on a hot air balloon ride—she’s terrified of heights so I’m especially touched by this.
Masochism as love!
I’m also doing a special sale for the Love Where Y…