“Why does everything you know, and everything you’ve learned, confirm you in what you believed before? Whereas in my case, what I grew up with, and what I thought I believed, is chipped away a little and a little, a fragment then a piece and then a piece more. With every month that passes, the corners are knocked off the certainties of this world: and the next world too. Show me where it says, in the Bible, ‘Purgatory.’ Show me where it says ‘relics, monks, nuns.’ Show me where it says ‘Pope.’” –Thomas Cromwell imagines asking Thomas More—Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel
Wednesday, February 28, 2018
Wednesday, January 31, 2018
Sunday, December 31, 2017
“Kara, come on,” Lac calls, “it’s time for your shower.” She turns reluctantly. “Dominic, you too, buddy.” Lac claps his hands to forestall any whining appeals for another few minutes of play. “Come on, we have to get inside before it gets dark.” He’s marching the kids back to the hut, steeling himself for the tirade his wife will unleash once they’re alone, yet he notes a pall of silence hanging over the shabono. What could be going on in there? He curses quietly. No matter, your biggest concern now is figuring out where your children can play tomorrow—without covering themselves in feces.
“Did you hear something?”
“You can’t go on doing this to yourself,” she says when she realizes he’s unable to muster any further opposition. “It must be hard enough for you to handle taking care of yourself out here; you don’t need the added burden of worrying about us every minute of the day.”
“You’re not a burden. You’re my family.”