Cristine Russell
It's 3 a.m. Wednesday, July 17, and I awaken to intense light from the full moon streaming through my bedroom window.
When I heard the sad news that famed British broadcaster Sir David Frost had died, I went to my bookshelf and pulled down a yellowed $1.45 Vintage paperback, The Immense Journey, by the great American anthropologist and author Dr. Loren Eiseley.
When I fell and broke my wrist in early August, my normal hectic routine — daily tennis, regular kayaking, and too many hours working at the computer — came to a screeching halt. With my left arm and hand encased in a high-tech black Exos cast, my choices at first seemed limited.
Chilmark, August 18. It’s almost
midnight, and lights at the Snail Road house up the hill are still on. But the guests of honor are gone. The 24-hour Secret Service protection is gone.