118. Say Tomorrow Doesn't Come 🫶🏼
Friends,
I’m now ending all emails with “enjoy your brief existence!” it is an encouragement (to my friends) and a warning (to my foes).
Happy weekend!
Here’s three things you may find interesting and/or meaningful.
1. Reading 📗
Norah Ephron’s rules for middle aged happiness.
(there are just 3)
“Gather friends and feed them, laugh in the face of calamity, and cut out all the things––people, jobs, body parts––that no longer serve you.”
2. In The Kitchen 🔪
I wrote about a new short story book that I loved and a particular story that made me cry here:
3. A Poem 🫶🏼
Finally a bit of good news out of America - she has a new Poet Laureate - Ada Limón. Here’s one of my faves from her archive.
The Conditional
Say tomorrow doesn't come.
Say the moon becomes an icy pit.
Say the sweet-gum tree is petrified.
Say the sun's a foul black tire fire.
Say the owl's eyes are pinpricks.
Say the raccoon's a hot tar stain.
Say the shirt's plastic ditch-litter.
Say the kitchen's a cow's corpse.
Say we never get to see it: bright
future, stuck like a bum star, never
coming close, never dazzling.
Say we never meet her. Never him.
Say we spend our last moments staring
at each other, hands knotted together,
clutching the dog, watching the sky burn.
Say, It doesn't matter. Say, That would be
enough. Say you'd still want this: us alive,
right here, feeling lucky.
See you next Sunday.