It was in my hands. Its soft cover pressed firm against the pages between. Its title and author matching one of the many listed on the two index cards in my wallet.
Then, there was the other one. Another soft cover. It was not listed on my index card. I had come across the Detroit-area author’s book in the used section of the store.
Neither were from the author or classics I collect.
Neither authors were present for a book reading/signing event.
I was not in New York City.
I’ve been thinking a lot over the past week about a comment made by a business friend (someone I like though we don’t always agree on career or conformity issues). The comment regarded careers in the land of big business law firms and the ongoing perceived “stigma” of attorneys leaving the setting that used to be considered the Sure Thing and the sign of success.
These days, the out-flow from the Sure Thing is steady (either pushed out or running screaming for freedom, and all states in between), increasing in speed, and from what I can see contains both genders and a wide range of ages. To paraphrase James Joyce from The Dead, “departures were general all over LawFirmLand.”
I found very late last night, after performing in the Improv class show (and dominating it a bit, never send a hammy lawyer who grew up on Mel Brooks onto a stage without retaining use of a hook to get her off) that July 28 is also the birthday of one of the great artists of all time, Jesuit priest and masterful poet of nature and spirit, Gerard Manley Hopkins. Personal favorites of mine are The Windhover (here) and Pied Beauty (here).