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That’s my reflection in the left of the window taking the picture. Paris, August 2004 – Place des Victoires

Since anyone can now start a blog, there really was no excuse for me not to try public writing. But when a blogger posts a writing that nobody reads, has anything actually been written?

From around the age of twelve, I have written irregularly about all kinds stuff in notebooks and journals.  The stuff written about includes, among other things, what happened that day, or thoughts and ideas on a topic that interests me, or ponderings on philosophical questions, or, sometimes, just plain nonsense. These writings fill a box or two with large and small folios, some loose leaf sheets, and a few spiral bound notebooks. Over the years, I occasionally shared my stuff in correspondence with friends, some of which some of them liked, and the some occasionally urged me to write for a broader audience.

 I have varied interests, and I am cursed with curiosity, but I often find myself revisiting the worlds of ancient Greece and Rome, reading and re-reading the literature they produced. I suspect the writings about my varied interests that I post here will frequently have a reference or two (or more) to this ancient world.

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