Word: decayed
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...from the original Adams elm, which is weak and declining. The old tree was the tallest and grandest on the White House grounds until it was hit by lightning in 1965 and lost one of its huge limbs. Another storm in 1976 battered the tree even more, and now decay has begun to eat at the 4½-ft. trunk. Its leaves, once deep green and dense, are thinning. They have fallen for the winter, and the likelihood is that next spring they will not regain even this year's reduced vigor. But the family will...
Philip A. Kuhn, professor of History and of East Asian Civilizations and Languages, sees physical endeavor as an alternative to total decay." Unlike many of his colleagues, though, he is unwilling to exercise in a boring or repetitive manner. He prefers to go cross-country sking in New Hampshire's White Mountains, where he owns a cabin. "Anybody who lives in New England and doesn't get out to the country really is missing a great deal. The thrill of gliding through the forest on noiseless skis is hard to beat...
...arrived. The cars bear testimony to hard times. In the '70s, the boom years, those cars would have been new. Now only an occasional '82 Buick Regal or Chrysler Le Baron gleams hopefully among older Coupe de Villes, Torinos and Caprice Classics. A Thunderbird stands in ruinous decay next to the embarrassing glint of a new Toyota. An ancient Ford station wagon, held together by spit and masking tape, boasts a bumper sticker that says: THUMBS UP FOR MICHIGAN...
Hollywood's trash, like all rubbish comes in two categories. First there's the stuf which, like nuclear waste, refuses to decay quickly and gives off a weird glow for years. Films like this have been pretty scarce since the early '60s, but every so often, a camp classic like Momance Dearest reminds its just what wonderful depths the genre can stuck to Then there's the mundane trash-strictly binde granddble which is dumped on the public one day, carted away the next and never seen aging...
...point: the role of survivor. People are a source of life in Pastan's poetry--her children, her husband/lover, herself. When someone dies, her sense of creativity utters a gasp apart from mourning; its food has been wrenched away. But Pastan remains clam about the way life seems to decay after the death of a loved one. With the lines: The world is shedding - its thousand skins. she survives a funeral by noticing how mourners see the whole world as dry and falling down like an autumn...