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PAUL CHRISTENSEN
THE THEATER OF IGNORANCE
All night the weather kept waking me with snow plows grating on the pavement. I tossed and turned, twisted the covers around me and...
MY BUDDY NANOOK AND I
March is Yukon Month here in Vermont, a somewhat irregular event that is now falling on us every other year. Snow is packed up high along...
A EULOGY FOR CARTER
I can still recall reading about this curious Georgian creeping about in the Oval Office turning down the thermostat, going to bed with a...
THE WET MARKETS
Maybe you haven’t heard of a wet market before. It’s a nightly event in most south Asian cities, a place to buy fish, fresh produce,...
THE ICE MAN COMETH
Vermont has gone into deep storage, buried under a foot of sticky snow, with drifts reaching up to a few feet in some places. The silence...
THE ROAD TO CHILDHOOD
I was on a trek with my wife looking for protest poetry for a book I had proposed to Oxford University Press. They gave me some advance...
CHAPPED LIPS
A bitterly cold day today, with the window panes looking like some Currier & Ives dinnerplate. An arctic blast rolled across the entire...
WHAT WENT WRONG?
Somebody must have told the media moguls that America can’t get enough of bad news to satisfy their thirst for horror or need to feel...
THE DAY OF RECKONING
Okay, I went to bed with the results of the Georgia midterms’ run-off still wide open. Figured it will take the counters another twelve...
THE RAGS OF NOVEMBER
We’re all back in solitary confinement now that autumn is played out and winter is beginning to construct the iron canopy over our...
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