The older I get, the more I love the Fourth of July. (This might be because, as a kid, I cared about only the promised pyrotechnics: fireworks, sparklers, kissing my seventh-grade crush on the Ferris wheel at the county fair.) When the calendar flips from June to July, it activates some sort of happy Pavlovian…
To the person who first wrote H.A.G.S. in my yearbook a lifetime ago: Thanks a lot. I’ve taken that mandate to heart ever since, dedicating myself year after year to having the greatest summer I can imagine. And with that comes a bit of anxiety: Have I crossed a single activity off my summer bucket…
No profit grows, Shakespeare once wrote, where no pleasure is taken. And so in the tedious march of life, we find joy in small things: The rising of the sun. A fine glass of wine. The greasy snap of a well-dressed potato crisp. But soft! Not so fast. Life affords no simple pleasures, and even…
