I need to dig out my car. I mean I did a little of it, but I have a feeling that I will need to be able to drive the car out of it’s icy cocoon at the start of next week. I have been actively been avoiding this chore. I feel like a little kid – I know what I need to do, I just don’t want to do it, and I won’t do it until I have to, or someone makes me. It’s too cold. It was nine degrees this morning. Nope, too cold to shovel ice and snow. At my age, I could have a heart attack if I were to do it… So this is more like self care and preservation… In fact, it would be crazy if I did go out there. Yes, I need to stay inside and drink coffee and read.
I don’t know how I got here this morning, but I had no idea that Oliver Cromwell’s head was lost and then found, and then buried. I did know that when Charles II came back in power that he had Cromwell dug up, and hung, and then beheaded. I just didn’t know that the head survived until the twenty century.
Hey! Be safe out there. Those of us that are going to march; keep it peaceful, and let your voices be heard.
I’m at the end of my working day, and sadly, I wasn’t able to put together a good blog. I had wanted to write a short story review, but that didn’t work out either.
I am still trying to catch up from the weekend, and what the snow has wrought. The family schedule has been thrown off, and I am only now getting things back on track. Though it might appear that I lead the fabulous life of a blogger/writer/critic… my life as a stay-at-home-parent does come first.
Which is why, only now, at 4:14pm am I sitting down to write today’s blog, which is more about not writing the blog I had envisioned.
But isn’t that life? You make a plan, and then God laughs.
I make lots of plans, and most of then do not work out. As I get older, I become more comfortable with this affirmation of life – things go sideways sometimes. You roll with it.
I gotta go and meet the kid and take her to soccer in a minute, so I should wrap this up.
Though I didn’t write the thing I wanted to write for myself, and you, I did show up, and I did write something. I met the goal.
(Got arrested at Mardi Gras for jumpin’ on a float…)
You might not know this, but there is a time distortion that happens at the 50th Street station on the C line. At the station, C trains arrive on average, every 12 minutes. Yet, if you go one stop before or after 50th (42nd and 59th Street respectively) you will observe that C trains arrive every 6 minutes. Somehow, come towards or going away from 50th Street on a C train adds or takes away 6 minutes of time. This distortion may be caused by a Doppler Effect, a red or blue shift as it were, with time. More research is needed, clearly, as this distortion may have the potential to rethink our understanding of time and space. But most importantly, the C trains arrive never shows up at 50th when you need it!!!
I have a bit of a potty mouth. For the longest time I didn’t swear at all. Then something popped in my brain around 25 and I stopped giving a shit. (Mind you, I’m a pretty clean writer. Sometimes it comes out but not often. The reason is I think the over use of swear words in writing demonstrates a lack of vocabulary and creativity with the language.) It’s tricky with a kid. I do my best, but it sort of flies outta me, as my filter is rather porous. I fear that I’m being a bad influence on the kid, but we do live in New York. She’s heard way worse on the street than anything I’ve said.
So… a blizzard is coming Sunday. We could get anywhere from 6” to 16”. And then there’s the chance for ice. Me and the kid are super excited about this. I love snow and ice. I love the winter season, and I love snowball fights and building snowmen. I love to sled, and we bought a two seater one so I could take part with the kid. I love watching the snow fall, and how quiet it makes the City as it’s coming down. I love that first walk in the snow, and how everything appears new, clear and fresh. Can you telling grew up in a place that never got snow?
(The short story “Light Secrets” by Joseph O’Neill appeared in the January 26th, 2026 issue of The New Yorker.)
Photograph by Eric Helgas for The New Yorker
Got another “Can’t Put My Finger on It” short story. (It’s doubly funny because hands come into play with the work.) I have come around, and I will say that I do like Joseph O’Neill’s “Light Secrets.” And I did come around to it, because when I finished reading it, I wasn’t sure exactly what I had read. “What is this?” I said out loud in my car. See, I was in the process of moving my car for the street sweeper, but the sweeper hadn’t arrived yet, so I decided that I should read this story. The sweeper never arrived, so as I walked back to my apartment, I contemplated what I had just read. And my opinion began to change.
Though “Light Secrets” is a contemporary story taking place in New York City, it feels more akin to a late 70’s early 80’s New York – like in a Woody Allen movie. You know, smart professional people in their 40’s with leisure time to lunch, walk the City, attend friendly dinner parties, and enjoy robust social circles. I’m not bringing this up as a criticism of the work, more to establish the setting and mentality of these characters; their lives have a breath and space to them which allows for internal contemplation, and though they all have outside pressures in their lives, none of those pressures are paramount to define their being, but are more like accessories to highlight characterization. For a story like this to work, you have to believe that these characters are the type of people that would take the time to analyze and digest what their friends say and how it may apply to their life, and not just move from moment to moment.
And with that said, I’m not sure what “Light Secrets” is trying to say, but I liked it. I like the sensibility of it. How the protagonist speaks to us like we’re a friend. I like how things are left undefined, and rough around the edges. How moments seem to have an intersection, but maybe it’s just a coincidence? Does the touching of hands mean anything, or is it just something that happens? Can a lifetime of good deeds be undone by an unconfirmed rumor? Should it? I kept finding myself going back and thinking of the old adage, “If a tree falls in the woods, does it make a sound?” Does a good deed have to be acknowledged for it to have impact and relevance? Is existentialism just dumb luck which we have thought too much about?
I hate to admit it, but I am a sucker for stories like this – undefined and leading to interpretation. You know, which door has the tiger behind it, and stuff like that. “Light Secrets” is right up my alley, and I think O’Neill did an excellent job of balancing his story, in regard to the information we are given, and the information left out. It’s a well thought through work, and I appreciate that it required me to slow down a step, and just contemplate life for a bit.
