Having not won a gold medal in the Olympic marathon for four years, of course Abebe Bikila triumphantly crossed the finish line first in Tokyo in 1964. Bikila beat Basil Heatley (of whom more later) by just over four minutes. Winning an Olympic marathon by over four minutes is likely
I wasn’t there, but it is my understanding that Paul Simon performed in front of about half a million people in Central Park not so many years ago. I also wasn’t invited to any of the recording sessions for “The Sounds of Silence” or “Still Crazy after All these Years,”
Two people napping in adjacent seats on an airplane are not “sleeping together.” Nor does having given birth to a child define you as an adequate parent. “Staying awake together” and having kids is complicated. Babies know precisely what they want and articulate that information in a straight-forward, shrieking manner. Parents know
Growing up I frequently spent the night at my best friend’s house. Andy and I were friends at the elementary school, were both besotted with the Gemini missions, liked tossing the football. Although neither of us had any notable athletic prowess, the lazy South Florida afternoons melted away pleasantly enough.
Astrophysicists looking for life in other solar systems search for planets in the “Goldilocks Zone.” Assuming that water is necessary for life as we know it, scientists suggest that planets too close to their suns will have water only in the form of steam and that planets too far from
Why does my colleague insist that every college application be submitted from her office? Is there something special about her school’s location? Why can’t the children submit the applications from their homes? Why is my colleague vehement that the applications be submitted in her office under her watchful eye? She’s
Long time readers will hardly be surprised to know that the saying “as the tree is bent, so is the tree inclined” resonates with this poor author. A more ominous restatement is “as ye sow, so shall ye reap.” Am I being over sensitive to be concerned about the section
I never thought I wrote well. This is not false modesty. Nor am I looking for complements. I never thought I wrote well because, to be perfectly honest, I did not. In the time capsule that doubles as my office closet, I recently unearthed 40-something year old correspondence from my
“Colonel Mustard killed Mr. Body in the billiard room with the candlestick”–began no mystery novel ever. The entire genre is called “whodunit” because the joy of reading is trying to figure out–or in my case waiting to be told–who did what to whom and why. The whole point of a
Ellen and Sam fell in love. No surprise there. They had worked together for years, were friends before they started dating. They had everything in common: careers in education, commitment to community service, even a shared fondness for miniature labradoodles. Sam was 45, Ellen 29. But the difference in their
Copyright © David Altshuler 1980 – 2024 | Miami, FL • Charlotte, NC | (305) 978-8917 | [email protected]
