Back from three days of in Des Moines, thinking about:
(is life really what you make it? or would only a callous brute not be thrown off his stride by suicides, endless wars, shrinking newspapers on the one hand, and a sweet softball summer evening and a mother-in-law-in-love, on the other?)
(do the Dutch name their convenience stores with equivalents of Git ‘n Go, Kum ‘n Go, Juice ‘n Junk?)
the American public,
(why is it that any American mutt can go to Adventure Land, take one look at the bovine crowd, and feel like a Kennedy?)
and American history—
(it’s available for $6, general admission, at the Iowa Cubs ballpark, where the view over the centerfield wall is a golden state capitol dome on a leafy hill)
—and feeling no rush—it’s not even July 15 yet, I’m not yet 40, America might be as relatively young as Scout, and she’s just learning how to swim!—to draw conclusions.