0 Items

The Sun Magazine

Editor's Note

Editor's Note

Home Again

This house, when did it become home? It’s hard to say. So many things have no beginning. We love someone; the love just grows. When did it start? What hour of what day? Children stop needing us; the car gets old; time moves on feet always moving. Only watches stop. Only rare days stand out, like high waves from an endless sea.

Editor's Note

Easy Answers

To test my new answering machine, I call myself at the office as soon as I get home. The recorded announcement says I’m not there. I reply, “Of course you’re not. You’re here.” Norma laughs from the next room. For several weeks, with growing amusement and a hint of dismay, she’s been listening to me evaluate all the answering machines and their features: automatic redialing, remote playback, and — Norma, get this! — a speakerphone that lets you carry on a conversation from anywhere in the room.

Wondering Jew

An old friend came in the other day and told me he was thinking of converting. “To what?” I asked. “Judaism,” he said. I remembered the strange conversation we had three or four years earlier: he had called one night to apologize for having described me once to a friend of his as “a dirty Jew”; it had been weighing on his conscience; he wanted to let me know he was sorry.

June 1983

Running through darkened streets each morning (sometimes it feels like running, sometimes like kidnapping, my good intentions dragging my heavy carcass behind me); lost in the blind alley of some old fear; climbing the hills of mind under a blazing sun, good intentions burned away by noon — here is where I meet my spirit, here is where I’m transformed. But this is progress by inches, this is the razor night I walk toward dawn, my faith a flickering candle, the fine words I’ve read and written wet matches in my palm.