Often when I’m being overshadowed by a friend’s talent, I jokingly chime in, “I speak German,” which in South Carolina is about as useful as being able to burp the alphabet.
However, one night my friend Karen drove our daughters and me to a remote part of the woods in the Swiss Alps, reached only by her skillful traversing of a perilously old, narrow wooden bridge in our Citroen van. (I closed my eyes as she drove. We all have to die sometime, but I don’t have to watch.) [Read more…]