“What’s in a name? That which we call a rose/ By any other name would smell as sweet.” Juliet, in her soliloquy, diminishes the significance of a name; in this instance Romeo’s surname, Montague. Romeo would be the same “dear perfection,” she proclaims, if he were a mere Smith or Jones. But maybe not a …
I was staring down into the well of my martini, twirling the toothpick that speared the olive. I’d shut out the sounds around me; the ballgame on the TV, the usual bar chatter and the clatter of utensils on plates. Focused on the wakes in the crystal aromatic liquid, I asked myself the questions. “What …
The Life in My Years 