Dear Friend  (How Many Blessings Can You See in This Picture?) By William Hecht   Though I never suspected it (and usually don’t), I had been blessed when Paul asked me if I might join him on Christmas Eve. He intended to call the Salvation Army or Goodwill Industries and offer to help serve dinner that night to the needy and homeless. I told him that I had no other plans and would be glad to join him. That Paul would initiate such a plan was not the surprise that it would have been many years ago when we first met. He had been an investor client of mine. He came from old money out of Chicago. He had inherited a couple million dollars

  AS A WES ANDERSON devotee, I was going to watch this film with no regard for reviews or hubbub about it aforehand. As with The French Dispatch, his most recent full feature, this movie will require another viewing; there’s too much detail to consume and it goes by too quickly.  The cast is replete with stars and familiar faces for Anderson’s film.  Tom Hanks, Scarlett Johannson, Liev Schreiber, and Bryan Cranston are all new (I think). Jason Schwartzman and Edward Norton are among the veterans. My initial reaction was that Anderson had become too stylized and too cute. He felt the need to frame the film as a movie about a play. For me, his movies will always survive a viewing because they are

  ABOUT TWENTY YEARS ago, while living in Arizona, I read a good number of the mystery novels by Tony Hillerman.  They centered on the exploits of a Navajo detective who used his senses of harmony and balance to solve crimes on the enormous reservation that covers parts of  Arizona, New Mexico, Utah and Colorado.  It includes Hopi and other tribal sections.  Robert Redford bought the rights to some of the material and co-produced this with George R. R. Martin and others. One of the benefits of the “whodunnits” here is the look into the Navajo culture. It’s matriarchal and mystical, holistic and animist; it’s beautiful, noble and vulnerable. [There’s currently a Ken Burns’ documentary on the American Bison and the effect is the same:

[Authors Note–Please Read: This piece is for education and entertainment only. ] I am not the boy who cried “Wolf!” –Besides, one wolf does not a disaster make. Actually, I like wolves; they are beautiful, intelligent and have complex social structures. They work together hunting and caring for the pups. Many of the First Peoples’ cosmologies depict the wolf as an important fellow traveler  who has suffered a fate not unlike their own: misunderstood, removed, contained, and demonized (as exhibited by the folktale in the case of the wolf). [By the way, I am reviewing a series about the Navajo  called “Dark Winds” in the Movies section of this blog.] In this early phase of AI, this age of robo-advisors, and investment professionals who only

  [This is a seasonal piece from Unit Three Writings] MY SEASON APPROACHES and with it arrive my best prospects for redemption. I refer to September, both as the ninth month and as a stage of Life–the ripeness of being that precedes the bitter cold. I refer to the September I was born to and those sweet, sad days that invite surrender to Melancholy’s caress. This belief takes shape in me only now, at fifty. It formed in increments by way of three separate and eclectic experiences. The first came while I was away at college, that blissful period when my future was indiminishable by doubt or skepticism, and a writing pad stuck out of my back pocket that I might recognize and record rare