Back in this time without television, movie theaters, and rock concerts, public speeches were exciting and entertaining, and, for the country town of Gettysburg, likely very rare. People would ride for hours, perhaps even days to hear someone.
Later today, two brigades of enemy infantry will march down Chambersburg Pike. Buford and his men will do their best, but they will be easily outmatched and overridden.
And what greater grocery store is there in this universe, I ask you? Its hours of operation: endless. Its selection of salty snacks: both wide and economical.
The first of Adalbert Waffling’s Fundamental Laws of Magic: “Tamper with the deepest mysteries—the source of life, the essence of self—only if prepared for consequences of the most extreme and dangerous kind.”
Every year, the Romans made promises to the god, Janus (hence January), who was often depicted as two-faced: one facing front and one facing back.
The yelling is why I’m glad I chose not to be an elementary-school anything. And the yelling is what showed me, in ways that a phone bill or an empty fridge had failed to do, that I really am an adult now.
So, now that it’s September and I’ve got my novel-planning materials out, I’m looking forward—in my patented, heady and mystical way—to the winnings I plan to claim this year.
How can a person as unorganized and untidy as I am simultaneously be so anal retentive about how to arrange books?
