Have we got a case for you, counselor. See, there’s this company; three shifts, so there’s always people around. But our boy don‘t know that. Part of the place is under construction; he grabs a ladder and goes up on the roof. He takes 5 big buckets of roofing glue and throws them down this hole to the second floor, just to watch how pretty it looks spreading all over the floor, I guess.
Read MoreThe morning of the day after I arrive, my mother wakes me up and takes me to see the wild purplish-blue irises that grow in the wet places in the woods. She’s wearing formless green work pants and a cream shirt, the same kind of uniform she’s worn since I was a child.
Read MoreGaby and I walk the sidewalks of this suburban city, once a small town surrounded by farms, now a bedroom community of Chicago, bristling with strip malls, Starbucks, McMansions and a gigantic Lifetime Fitness. And yet, something remains of the rural landscape: large stands of mature oaks and maples, creeks that feed the DuPage River…
Read MoreMorning in my old neighborhood in Mexico City; and tamales still steam in large, shiny metal containers that look like new garbage cans. A man in a navy blue jumpsuit cuts oranges and soaks carrots, beets and celery to make juice. For a few extra pesos, he will toss in a raw egg, guaranteed to cure a hangover.
Read MoreYou reflected me skating on the rink under the neighbor’s yard light, blades scratching your surface. You creaked occasionally but did not complain. You sustained my drunken friends and me, along with a quarter ton of 1960s metal driving the road plowed across the Rainy River to Canada, land of dances with live bands from Winnipeg and bars that didn’t card.
Read MoreGaby and I walk the sidewalks of this suburban city, once a small town surrounded by farms, now a bedroom community of Chicago, bristling with strip malls, Starbucks, McMansions and a gigantic Lifetime Fitness. And yet, something remains of the rural landscape: large stands of mature oaks and maples, creeks that feed the DuPage River…
Read MoreAt 10:30 PM, the twilight in this place on the northern edge of the United States has finally slipped into darkness. A cool wind chased away the humidity and–for now at least–the mosquitoes. No other night sounds yet. Later perhaps, an owl, a whippoorwill or the deer that sidle into the clearing to graze, long-legged and graceful as ballerinas.
Read MoreIt’s been more than 26 years since I tried my first case, but one thing never changes: the adrenaline drop afterwards. When I was a brand new public defender, the first thing I’d do after my jury went out to deliberate is head to my favorite cafe to have a triple (yes, a triple) espresso and something chocolate. Thus fortified, I could ride out the high for a long time.
Read MoreWe are all tuned to our phones, our iPads, our TVs–maybe even our radios–in advance of the Big Storm headed our way. Snow from Canada, rain from the south, all of it colliding right above our martyred Minnesota. The meteorologist says, “There’s a big swirl up there…” And we shiver.
Read MoreHere in Granada, home of the Alhambra and poet Federico García Lorca, people in January (as our host, Concha says) dress like onions, i.e., in layers. Everyone wears a winter coat, hat, gloves and boots.
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