What do you want to be when you grow up? If you had asked me that question in the summer of my twelfth year, I would have readily answered: The driver of an ice cream truck. . .
Early on a cold, rainy, dreary Sunday morning, a man sits in a chair in the deep darkness of a small side chapel off the main sanctuary of the church of the old Monastery of Gonia. . .
This is essentially a casual letter to friends – mostly personal – sharing the small moments and thoughts and images that make for a day-by-day life as November winds down into the holiday season.
About 2,500 years ago, Protagoras, the Greek philosopher, figured out that “Man is the Measure of All things.”
Meaning what? That measurement is relative to us in our relationship to our world and lives.
Can you wiggle your ears, roll your tongue into a tube, cross your eyes, raise one eyebrow, write with both hands simultaneously, touch your nose with your tongue, kiss your own elbow – things like that . . . ? This is a conversational gambit I sometimes use at cocktail parties and receptions and other occasions when people are standing around making mindless small talk.