
“Something there is that doesn’t love a wall,
That sends the frozen-ground-swell under it,
And spills the upper boulders in the sun,
And makes gaps even two can pass abreast. . .”
In his poem Mending Walls, Robert Frost queried the necessity of separating individual purpose. Why not crossover? Surely there is virtue in sharing each other’s space? This is not easy, states his neighbor, or so he was taught … Read More



When my sister and I were young, we used to scour my mother’s jewelry box, designating possession of each piece of her personal collection to be bestowed upon us after she was gone. Seems a bit coldhearted, but apparently normal behavior for little girls whose naivety prevented us from any real grasp on the proprietary meaning of such precious baubles. Our intent was merely the realm of imagination, a stealth … 