Unlearning (3/3)

Shoes.Shoes.Shoes.  The long glass wall separates me from a display of more than 100,000 shoes at Auschwitz-Birkenau.  Men’s shoes and women’s shoes and children’s shoes and baby shoes.  Everyday shoes and work shoes and formal shoes and boots and sandals and slippers and high-heeled shoes and orthopedic shoes.  Woven sandals and wooden-soled shoes and leather shoes and cloth shoes.  Shoes

Last Tuesday. I’m sitting in an Adirondack chair, my feet resting on a well-weathered log here in Sisters, Oregon. It’s my family’s annual week-long vacation at the same beautiful house we’ve rented for the past four summers. My favorite spot. Just above the little creek. Most of my worries are 153 miles away. ✧✧✧ This Tuesday. I’m sitting in my

  1. I know garbage “You should put the garbage bins back where they were before you remodelled,” I tell the managers of the Grant High School construction project when they host a neighborhood forum. “Funny thing, that,” the lady in charge says, “It’s a bit counterintuitive.” She explains something city planners learned about beaches. “If there is a garbage