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Michael Estabrook |
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Cave Dwelling We've finished raising our children they're out on their own with jobs and houses and apartments, planning weddings and a baby, the next generation almost here. So what do we - the soon-to-be grandparents - do now? Our practical usefulness is over. We aren't necessary anymore for money or housing or food or clothing or cars - so what do we do now? In Paleolithic times our cave-dwelling ancestors cared for their aging parents and grandparents, fed them and kept them safe from giant bears and saber-toothed tigers, tucked way in the rear of the caves, where their function, apparently, was advice-giving. But today? Do young people really need our advice, stale, antiquated, practical? We'll see, but for now we better plan on keeping our own little cave warm and lit and dry for as long as we can. FACES NIBBLING GRASS I never owned a horse or felt much like riding one, but there's a corral off Main Street with horses in it. They run and jump or simply stand, their long necks bent down towards the ground, faces nibbling grass. How would a hard horse body feel beneath me? How would it be to gallop away, gripping a sleek black mane in my tight fists, wind blowing through my hair? [Index] |
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Thunder Sandwich #26 - Summer/Fall 2005 |
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