Maybe it’s that we’ve learned how to accept life now. Maybe, in some manner, we’re figuring out how to patch together a shade of what was once our daily routines. Or maybe it’s this, from the philosopher Jeff Goldblum. Whatever has happened, small moments of grace have surfaced–some of wonder and others of blessed normalcy.
Tom lives to photograph. I’m nothing if I can’t untangle lives that went before us. I think for us both, Dead Horse Beach is a portrait of brutal carelessness, giving up its ghosts with each low tide. That it draws so many to it–Tom and me, for instance–in wonder of its past and what it teaches us today is a reason to celebrate all the ugliness strewn across the sand.
This post is the first installment of THE BROOKLYN ALMANAC, a weekly supplement to I Can’t Believe I Did This. It will feature stories by writers and photographers riffing off the borough of Brooklyn. Enjoy!
At one point in Afghanistan, Sam told Ruben his idea for starting a food truck. Ruben filed his idea away as something for him to circle back to when they got back home.
The next couple of entries for Recipe Wednesday are about two Marines who started a food truck in New York City. I’m waiting for them to fact check the first post since it’s very much their story and I want to get it right. They should get back to me by tomorrow. We are not fake news here! In the meantime, here’s one of the recipes from that post.
