Friday, October 28, 2005

A visit to a dear friend of mine yesterday put me in mind of the old story: The jazz band flies into Nowheresville, Wyoming, in the teeth of a snowstorm. And there's no van to pick them up, and the town has no cabs. So they have to hoof it down the road through the snow to their hotel. Ten miles, in their second-best shoes, down a gale-swept road, and night is falling and their feet are freezing. And they come to a small farmhouse by the side of the road. Smoke is coming out of the chimney, and the light inside is warm and inviting. They're drawn to the house, and they peek inside the windows to see the farm family: Mom and Dad sitting on the couch, Mom knitting and Dad reading. The kids are laughing and playing a board game on the carpet in front of a fire, while Grandma's sleeping comfortably in her wing chair. And one jazz musician turns to another and says: "Man, how can people live like that???"

10:48 AM

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