Less Than One

The difference is that between two hemispheres, between night and day, between a city- scape and a countryside, between the dead and the living. The only points in common are my own frame and a type­writer. Of a different make and with a different typeface.

"Son," my mother would say over the telephone, "the only thing I want from this life is to see you again. That's the only thing that keeps me going." And a minute later: "What were you doing five minutes ago, before you called?" "ActuaUy, I was doing the dishes." "Oh, that's very good. It's a very good thing to do: the dishes. Sometimes it's awfully therapeutic."

Planning was hideous; every once in a while a rush order to produce some item would mess up your flickering attempt to establish some kind of working rhythm, a procedure