In my Canadian adolescence, 60 Minutes was a TV event. These days very few things are much-watch, at the time, but this stopwatched event was such a thing, and the best of it was the lively and often pugnacious little segments that Andy Rooney ended each episode with. It is a sad time when Rooney is no longer with us to cock a wry eye at the world and its foibles.
A poem for my mother, July 15 When she was dying And I was in a different country I dreamt I was there with her Flying over the ocean very quickly, And arriving in the room like a dream And I was a dream, but the meaning was more Than a dream has – it was a moving over time And land, over water, to get love across Fast enough, to be there, before she died, To lean over the small, huddled figure, In the dark, and without bothering her Even with apologies, and be a kiss in the air, A dream of a kiss, or even less, the thought of one, And when I woke, none of this had happened, She was still far distant, and we had not spoken.
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