I have purchased, for €6, a copy of Washington Irving’s Tales of the Alhambra, and I am finding it a delightful companion, one that shares my whimsy and romanticism. Of Andalusia, he says: “For the greater part it is a stern, melancholy country, with rugged mountains and long sweeping plains, destitute of trees, and indescribably…

Ayer fuimos al Alhambra… The approach to the city, or fortress, or palace (depending on who approaches) is up a hill wooded with mighty chesnuts, those trees that make my heart weep, for ours in America were lost. Little culverts and streams tumble down from the high Sierra Nevadas in the background, filter through the…

The Mediterranean- I have just stepped into her waters for the first time. I think of corsairs and kings, the ships mouldering in her deeps and the empires built on her shoulders. A stiff westerly wind hauls the waves today, bearing grains of sand with whispered names: Gibraltar, Carthage, Morocco. From the East, an imagined…

Some friends from Boulder are featured in this article from Al Jazeera, describing an interesting approach to mitigating climate change: since the executive and legislative branches of government are financially intimate with the fossil fuel industry, these kids have taken the issue to the courts.  http://america.aljazeera.com/articles/2014/5/4/youth-sue-governmentforclimateinaction.html    

Net neutrality has made the internet what it is- equal speeds and access for any publisher of information. New FCC regulations will change this (WITHOUT any need for legislative approval) at the end of May, unless there is enough public outcry. These new regulations would allow broadband providers to sell the rights for larger corporations…

I mentioned it before: Tolstoy said “All great literature is one of two stories; a man goes on a journey or a stranger comes to town.” Which is actually one story from two perspectives. Well. I plunked my college things at my parent’s house. They have lots of storage sheds, the stuccoed kind out back…

I quaff my cheerless, over-steeped styrofoam cup of tea and strain desperately around my poor neighbor to see my darling Anglaterre, if only for a moment. I know we are flying above the cliffs of Dover, even if I can’t see them. I think our steward is becoming a little cross, which I cannot blame…

We fly through cloud and mist, climbing still, I think. I have felt dry and stretched for a couple of days (“butter stretched over too much bread,” as Bilbo might say). I feel like I’m puckering at the edges. There is a beautiful man across the way. His outline draws my eyes more than is strictly…

Dear Teacher of Teachers, And what of love? Is there a place for affection to be expressed without fear? Is it self-evident and safe? Or is it too much like vanity? Some will understand, some will not, where do we draw the line in the sand to tell the tides of the heart, ‘no, you…