Toleration

By Willie Morris

A couple of months ago, on my sixty-first birthday, a comrade jocularly asked, “Do you see yourself growing more intolerant, or more tolerant?” It was a beguiling question, and a very human one, touching on many aspects of aging; and because it titillated me I have been thinking about it.

I truthfully believe I have grown more tolerant with time, and I will try to explain some of the reasons why. More than a year ago, almost coincidental with my turning sixty, something exceedingly strange and unexpected began to happen in my life. I had always been an easy and heavy sleeper, but suddenly I began to awaken regularly at the first light of dawn, whereupon my precipitously troubled consciousness would enter into a hazy reverie of years long past, a drowsing yet sleepless musing often lasting as long as three hours or more.more

We Named Our Dogs After Liquor

By Julia Cariño

Whiskey and Scotch,
    Bourbon and Brandy,
Blackie, after Johnnie Walker
    Black Label—a dark
and snarling Doberman who
    growled
beneath the chicken coops at
    night.

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