Comfortable Discomfort

Mark is smart. He’s one of my smarter friends. He is able to contort his words so as to not split an infinitive, as I just did in this very sentence. (Mark would have written, so as not to split an infinitive.) ⟡⟡⟡ Four or five years ago, Mark’s youngest child—assigned female at birth and named Clara—told him that they

I’m here to help. As far as I can figure out, that’s why I’m here. To help. A saying attributed to John Wesley: Do all the good you can, By all the means you can, In all the ways you can, In all the places you can, At all the times you can, To all the people you can, As

I’m fuming. FUMING. F-U-M-I-N-G! I’ve just removed my key from the front door and crossed over the threshold. The setting is my first floor apartment at 7 Keren Hayesod in Jerusalem.  I lived there for a year — two buildings down and across the street from the Super Sol where King George starts. About a 1¼-mile walk from the Western