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Hard Old Life, part iv
Mother, I was watching my dog this morning and thought of you. Jinx is his name, and I’ll risk saying something foolish and declare that I think you’d like him if you knew him. He’s goofy and affectionate and spastic, with eyebrows that Laurence Olivier would envy in their expressiveness. He’s the clumsiest dog I’ve ever seen, and the most graceful when he leaps and runs, seeming to be more deer than dog. He spends long periods sitting in front of me, staring into my eyes, and if I put a blanket across him when he’s on the floor, he falls asleep in about eight seconds, which is why I…
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Hard Old Life, Part i
Dear Mother, I can feel them even now as I set down these words. They are closer to me than some might think, and they are not at all silent. I am aware of their movement, and their songs are familiar to me, a collection of spinning alma mater, fully scored, richly orchestrated. When I was a small boy, you led me out into the hard-packed dirt of our front yard. The night was frigid and clear, and the moon was either new or hadn’t yet risen. It was just after midnight , and it was my birthday. You lifted your palms to the black sky with the sort of…