Change History … or Face the Salon?

When I focus on how I changed history, altering someone’s life, I cannot help but think that drawing attention to such a thing is just an exercise in ego massage. Naturally, with the religious guilt I still cart around, I hung my head. Twenty seconds later, another feeling burst to flower. “What to heck is wrong with that?” I like it. However, to deal with a lingering thread of confusion, I can participate only by sharing the spotlight. Is it wrong to admit that I have helped a friend through two decades of L’Oreal? Talk about change. Oh my gawd!…

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“Dreamwood” by Adrienne Rich

  In the old, scratched, cheap wood of the typing stand there is a landscape, veined, which only a child can see or the child’s older self, a poet, a woman dreaming when she should be typing the last report of the day. If this were a map, she thinks, a map laid down to memorize because she might be walking it, it shows ridge upon ridge fading into hazed desert here and there a sign of aquifers and one possible watering-hole. If this were a map it would be the map of the last age of her life, not…

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