The Mystery of Mortality
One of the troublesome things about going on a trip is the huge stack of mail that confronts you upon your return. Some of these are bills, some of it is junk mail, but part of this stack, for me, anyway, is a delightful cache of new magazines to read. As soon as I get unpacked and do the laundry, I make myself a cup of tea, get settled in my favorite chair, put my feet up and READ. And in the July 28 issue of the New Yorker, I read an article about something pretty amazing that also, in a small way, happened to me.
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