When two 20-somethings slung a wire across rooftops in Boston, they were hoping to hear each other’s voices transmitted across that line. It worked, and they did, but in the process, they also picked up a far more exotic sound: powerful radio waves emitted from the sun.
The phone call came when I was boiling sweet corn — suppertime on a hum-drum Sunday whose excitement peaked with a trip to the grocery store.
On a national scale, it was a rough July, marked by division: shootings, protests, funerals, conventions.
I’ve been listening to Lillian Cunningham’s “Presidential” podcast, trying to glean insights into our nation’s earliest leaders. In a month that is sure to contain fireworks — from the Fourth of July to the Republican and Democratic conventions — it feels quieting and introspective to cast my mind back to our first presidents.
It had been a long Thursday, and Brooke Paris couldn’t wait to take off her heels, peel off her contacts and wipe off her make-up. She changed into her pajamas, climbed into bed and opened her MacBook to the pope’s new apostolic exhortation.
Father Thomas Byles was 42 when he boarded the Titanic with his second-class ticket and portable altar stone. He had made arrangements with Captain Edward Smith to secure space on the ocean liner to celebrate Mass. Even on vacation a priest is never off duty, he knew, but the Catholic convert would have it no other way.
Dolores Hart was 19 when she filmed her first movie scene: kissing Elvis Presley.
Oprah Winfrey has joined Weight Watchers, which means she is not only a card-carrying, point-counting member of the weight-loss club, she is also part owner. That’s how you do it when you’re Oprah: You go big (“you get a car, you get a car, you get a car”) or you don’t bother.