Do you question?
The answer is inside the Divine Basalt.
Right there.
Inside.
Just reach in and get it.
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I found this is my father's files yesterday. It was in a local fishing and outdoorsman weekly paper. No recollection whatsoever of it ever happening. But at 12 you can see I already had a strong sartorial sense. And Gail had long hair at 9!
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"Wean my child? No, not until he's fluent in a second language."

A friend of mine wrote me this week about her Thanksgiving dinner. You don’t get to know her name, and it will become clear why. Even though if anyone in her family reads this, well, they’ll know it’s about them. There just can’t be too many families that mirror this.

The event is long and juicy, but I’ll just cut to a central story.

There’s the male cousin-in-law, whom we’ll call Jay: poet, performance artist (adjudged by my friend to be bad at both), drinker (apparently puts in an excellent effort here). He’s married to a woman on whom I have few details, but we’ll call her Kay. They have a five year old son.

Jay, in a bit of drunken T'giving day eagerness of some kind, went into the driveway and slipped on the ice, breaking his ankle. When the dust eventually settled he ensconced on the couch drinking yet more.

I sympathize with the response, but I’m a happy patient, usually, and a happier drinker. He, on the other hand, was a misery. He apparently took to shouting at his wife throughout Thanksgiving, “serve me, Kay! Serve me!” These were requests for more fortified beverages one guesses.

Kay had her hands full, however. It seems their five year old still breast feeds.

Though a cultural anomaly in the U.S. – okay, in all first world countries – this is an accepted practice in some places. Largely because of widespread hunger. The picture I was drawn was not one of widespread hunger. Turkey was being served shortly.

My immediate picture upon hearing of this mother and child was of mom sitting at turkey dinner, and her five year old standing next to her with his head stuffed up under her blouse, getting a little dinner for himself. I’m sure utterly inaccurate, but it’s the image my brain assembled in the moment.

If they’re wise, they’ve already started a little trust fund just for future therapy.

The Supreme Court is now crumbling. Literally.

Talk about an apt metaphor:
"Pieces of Marble Fall From Supreme Court Facade
A piece of marble broke off over the entrance to the Supreme Court, above, landing in pieces." (NYTimes)
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