How life slams us. Dick Diver, the protagonist in Fitzgerald's "Tender Is the Night," is last seen practicing medicine in upstate New York, having lost his wife and children to another man in Europe. He no longer returns letters or has contact with the world he once knew
"In any case he is almost certainly in that section of the country, in one town or another," the novel ends. I think it more perfect than Fitzgerald's iconic coda in Gatsby.
Trapped on this island jutting into the Atlantic Ocean, the next stop Ireland, I have come to the conclusion that serious matters are best left to those who answer letters and engage in give and take, not Nobelists who complain that if the powers that be would only listen to me all would be better. But, hey, it's a free country. Error is truly a marker of my judgment. In spite of my black eye and tender other parts, the path for economic gain has been clearly laid. Rick Wagoner's dismissal at GM tells us who is in charge, the duly elected representatives of the U.S.A (and I have a soft spot for guys like Wagoner who, like me, didn't realize the rules had changed; I couldn't block in a football game now without my hands held to my chest).
Miss Market is having her way. The only direction is up. Youth must be served. Let the animal spirits of our offspring prevail, as surely they will. Softball season is upon us. Young ladies with leather gloves and hope in their hearts can only inspire.
Stick with F, DXO, AMD and PALM. Your children will love you no matter what town or another you end up in.
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