← Previous Post: | Next Post:


Scathing Online Schoolmarm howled with laughter through this wonderful essay. But she’s a mere sixty-six. Your mileage may differ.


But this, by Roger Angell, is even better. I’ve mulled over this paragraph for years.

“My list of names [of dead friends] is banal but astounding, and it’s barely a fraction, the ones that slip into view in the first minute or two. Anyone over sixty knows this; my list is only longer. I don’t go there often, but, once I start, the battalion of the dead is on duty, alertly waiting. Why do they sustain me so, cheer me up, remind me of life? I don’t understand this. Why am I not endlessly grieving?”

Trackback URL for this post:

2 Responses to “Lines Written at Seventy-One.”

  1. Ravi Narasimhan Says:

    Don’t know if you like Pinter but here’s his take on it

    If not that perhaps Richardson’s version

    Baseball, cricket… six of one…

  2. Margaret Soltan Says:

    Ravi: Love it! Love the idea that our ghosts are desperate for our touch. Thanks for sending.

Comment on this Entry

Latest UD posts at IHE