Meltdowns.

May 30, Emmitsburg.

The word meltdown in its domestic connotation entered my lexicon only a few weeks ago, thanks to my friend Matt.
Meltdowns until then conjured up scenes of nuclear devastation, desolate Eastern European landscapes, haggard faces, blown-up places, in black and white, for a more sinister effect.
Now it's got a soundtrack too, and if not quite as dire, my own private Dylan version, widely shared in homes the world over, can claim just as vast a devastation of Mom's central nervous system.