It's surely crass of me to mention in every entry that "Hillsdale, a Map" is available for $20. I dropped some off at a couple of fine stores this morning. I suppose there's no harm in naming them: Paper Umbrella and the Mackenzie Art Gallery shop.
Later, in class, I listened from the edge of the blackboard to a 19-year-old talk about getting older. I didn't know whether to laugh or weep. You can blame all that on Brenda Schmidt's "Note to Joy", which got us talking about what we lose as we age. Soon someone pointed out (it wasn't me) that one person's older is the next person's young.
Just before, what was likely an overload of questions about the poem, spoken by a dozen different mouths, gathered into clarity that lingered just long enough for the class to get writing, later talking about older. It wouldn't have happened unless that many people got involved in reading the poem.
Changing the topic, I've begun to compare being my age to being my grandson's age. How much we learn to get used to. They're both just as new, unless I'm crazy to say so.