“Is there still a spark between you two?” she asked.
I shook my head.
“I see. Without a spark, it won’t work.” She reminisced that she always thought my father was so handsome. “Always.”
I could start to let him go, once she had. It took weeks before I told Matt that it just wasn’t working. He asked if we could keep trying, but I knew I couldn’t. [NYT]
“There is plenty of epidemiological evidence linking sitting time to various chronic diseases and linking breaking sitting time to beneficial cardiovascular effects, but there is very little experimental evidence,” Thosar said. “We have shown that prolonged sitting impairs endothelial function, which is an early marker of cardiovascular disease, and that breaking sitting time prevents the decline in that function.”
The researchers were able to demonstrate that during a three-hour period, the flow-mediated dilation, or the expansion of the arteries as a result of increased blood flow, of the main artery in the legs was impaired by as much as 50 percent after just one hour. The study participants who walked for five minutes for each hour of sitting saw their arterial function stay the same — it did not drop throughout the three-hour period. Thosar says it is likely that the increase in muscle activity and blood flow accounts for this.
“American adults sit for approximately eight hours a day,” he said. “The impairment in endothelial function is significant after just one hour of sitting. It is interesting to see that light physical activity can help in preventing this impairment.” [link]
This scene, added to the Divan of Hafiz, shows Jahangir with his two sons and a third polo player who has been identified as the Rajput Raja Bhao Singh of Amber. He is dressed in green and was a maternal relative and part of Jahangir’s inner circle.
A folio from the Divan of Hafiz
Attributed to Manohar, c.1611
Or. 7573, f.194
I said to my husband, “Do you mind having a wife with only one breast?” He said, “Would you mind if I lost a leg?” I said, “Of course not!” “So there you go.” We talked about everything, and that is why we had 52 happy years. [link]
“Loving you was like going to war; I never came back the same.”
― Warsan Shire
Out the back door and under the big ash was a picnic table. At the end of summer, 1966, I lay down on it for nearly two weeks, staring up into branches and leaves, fighting fear and panic, because I had no idea where or how to begin a piece of writing for The New Yorker. I went inside for lunch, surely, and at night, of course, but otherwise remained flat on my back on the table…The picnic-table crisis came along toward the end of my second year as a New Yorker staff writer (a euphemistic term that means unsalaried freelance close to the magazine). In some twenty months, I had submitted half a dozen pieces, short and long, and the editor, William Shawn, had bought them all. You would think that by then I would have developed some confidence in writing a new story, but I hadn’t, and never would. To lack confidence at the outset seems rational to me. It doesn’t matter that something you’ve done before worked out well. Your last piece is never going to write your next one for you. Square 1 does not become Square 2, just Square 1 squared and cubed. [link]
One-third of those who married said their relationship with their eventual spouse began as a hookup, and they, too, were unhappier in their marriages later on. [link]