In my earlier days I recall we would often observe that "everybody has to be somewhere". Perhaps this explains how I find myself alone in a motel room in Escanaba, MI tonight.
Taking a break during the drive from Minneapolis to Traverse City where my sister and her hospitalized husband await me I find myself surfing the net and watching an animated film that seems to be populated with only penguins, many of whom are trying out for something akin to "American Idol". (I fear the judges have drowned)
I am thankful to have Pat Conroy with me as I am certain that his newest, South of Broad is as good as The Prince of Tides. He writes sentences that seem to be stand-alone stories…this from page 330:
Their cargo of sadness always seems unbearable, even on the night when both of them learned to dance.