The quirks of memory

Some of you might remember that, long ago and far away, I was a literature major once. Despite the fact that it seems altogether a different world, my love of the written word remains.

I may not have a favorite actor or actress, but I do have a favorite poem. It's not terribly well-known, unless you're familiar with twentieth-century American poets, but it's a piece that I have loved since I first read it. I know virtually nothing about the author, and have read nothing else of his. Sometimes I wonder if they live up to the high standard he set here:

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An answer from Brad

In the past six years I've come to count Brad Cavanagh as a friend. It's funny to think that someone I started chatting with because of my late shift in the computer lab and a two-hour timezone difference is now someone I communicate with on almost a daily basis.

I jokingly referenced him in an entry here a couple of days ago (regarding U.S. politics) but didn't really expect an answer. I was a bit surprised this morning when a thoughtful, full-fledged answer arrived in my mailbox. I asked him if I could quote bits from his letter to me, because it made me think, and he was gracious enough to agree.Originally I thought that I'd quote snippets of what he sent, but I think I'd rather quote it in a large chunks, so that I don't accidentally misrepresent his words: