Books allow us to wander through countries where we have been, to settle into cities and landscapes that never existed. Sometimes these fictional places feel more like home than the actual room where we sit to read.
What fictional place feels like home?
She came every morning to draw water
Like an old bat staggering up the field:
The pump’s whooping cough, the bucket’s clatter
And slow diminuendo as it filled,
Announced her. I recall
Her gray apron, the pocked white enamel
Of the brimming bucket, and the treble
Creak of her voice like the pump’s handle.
Nights when a full moon lifted past her gable
It fell back through her window and would lie
Into the water set out on the table.
Where I have dipped to drink again, to be
Faithful to the admonishment on her cup,
Remember the Giver fading off the lip.
―Seamus Heaney
Who are the givers you remember with gratitude this Thanksgiving?
Apparently this dog has an invisible friend sitting with him on the bench. There’s a lot to be said for an invisible friend who will listen to everything you have to say—even if you’re a dog.
Who do you talk to when there is no one around?
When we’re in trouble we’re said to be “in the doghouse,” banished from our own place of comfort. Dogs, it turns out, are really good at reconciliation, at asking forgiveness and moving back into loving connection. It’s a wonder they stay in doghouses at all.
When you’ve been in the doghouse, what has helped you back into good graces?
Sure, it’s wonderful to be with your closest friends, to have shared adventures or intimate conversations. But there’s something to be said for just hanging out, relaxing in the company of strangers at a coffee shop or in a movie theater.
Where have you enjoyed the company of strangers?
