Edith Wharton once said, “What’s the use of making mysteries? It only makes people want to nose ‘em out.” Well, how right she is. I’ve encountered two mysteries within the past few days that leave me scratching my head. As the experiences may be of use to my fellow w
When I was a teacher, I impressed upon my students that failure was part of the learning process. “Imagine where you’d be today,” I’d tell them, “if, as an infant, you were afraid of falling and skinning your knees to the extent that you decided to stay in your crib. Failure
According to writer Jenny Diski, very few “animals, as far as we know, edit reality. Survival in the natural world is about knowing what’s what and whether it wants to eat you.” (“Bewitched” by Jenny Diski, Harper’s, Dec. 2014, pg. 96.) Her observation is part of a r
Prior to the Christmas holidays, I had coffee with a friend who announced she was reading a biography on Norman Mailer. I confess, I’ve never read his novels, the most famous being The Executioner’s Song and The Naked and The Dead; but I am familiar with his essays and columns and
“You remember the time when…” So began my coffee conversation with my friend who was visiting from Paris during the holidays. It’s a phrase often repeated when people meet after a gap between encounters. Digging up old memories is a bonding experience and one, it turns out, th
I love science. I really do, but sometimes, I wish all those researchers would just shut up. We humans are entitled to a little mystery. Like the making of sausage, we don’t need to know about everything that goes on inside us. When I savor a hot fudge sundae, for example, do I care