Will O` The Wisp
![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZwHsQbpiLYnkGnGaHsv_Q-V7vL4sMB9dl8Z4aeoUORYck6c2UuSdHjl-ewp9bUNi-oKTRgj3mzFZ11C5xBffR6c_a45c7RdNxMd7Yb8zOLo3RM3cke9r645GoBzli0ECvAR0_cA/s320/Sam+Jinks+Flower,+2008.png)
I keep an eighty-year-old jazz singer in my apartment to give me perspective. She tells me that I drink tea too hot, which makes my mouth vulgar. When I wear sneakers to work, her glance is sharp -- but not a scold. In the morning she gently nudges me awake. Happiness isn't something this generation lost, she whispers, it's something every generation loses and then finds.
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