1. At breakfast this morning a story about forty-three children dead in a Mexican daycare fire. How the death toll keeps rising. How the details accrete.  How their parents crashed cars into the building to get them out.  I had been avoiding this news story purposely, fingering the soft satin edge of my limits, going...

It didn’t seem like much to me then. I sulked in the back seat as Dad steered his green ’73 Pontiac down every back road in the county. With our windows rolled down as far as they could go, steamy August air blew across our faces and provided little relief. He showed me stark white...