I just encountered someone on the internet bad-mouthing E.B. White, of all people.
But as I wanted to tell my brother-in-law last night, when he intemperately bashed a musical artist his sister had just praised, that if you don't like her, you don't have to listen: If you don't like him, don't read him. To each their own, no?
EBW loved dogs, wrote beautifully,* and was torn between the competing impulses (for finite beings like us) to save the world or savor and enjoy it. Multi-tasking is often futile, but like him I think we must do both.
On Thanksgiving, though, it's mostly about enjoying... and being grateful for the chance.
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