Salt

I’ve been writing this post in one form or another since the night of October 31, 2009. It’s started out a couple of  different ways. One was a fanciful opening passage to the apocryphal but amusingly un-authorized biography of Pete Carroll  I’ve been writing in my head since the end of the 2003 Orange Bowl. Another was a long and very unnecessary series of musings  on the nature of a charmed life. It referenced thermodynamics, faeries and cold iron, seraphim, standing in front of  operating microwaves, Charles Vess, glamors, and the play-within-the-play in A Midsummer’s Night Dream. I suck, though. Those  openings didn’t work. They were a bit pretentious, a bit too filigreed. Maybe they’re middle bits, but they are definitely  not “Call me Ishmael.” So as always, there is Vonnegut… “And Lot’s wife, of course, was told not to look back where all those people and their homes had been. But she did look back, ...