A few notes on writing, cooking, working, reading, from the long, hot month of May.
16
In the end, this is a kind of Mother’s Day story. But it starts this way: When he was 16-going-on-17 my friend David, the atheist, ornithologist, environmentalist, and retired Fedex pilot, hitch-hiked from his Hudson River home to the Gaspé, where he spent the first of many summers watching birds. It was 1956, year of…
A few things: April 2018
Let’s open with a confession: While I’ve sent countless notes, cards, postcards, etc., there are at least as many notes I should have written but didn’t. And I regret every one I didn’t send. Every note I waited too long to write (and send), not realizing that it’s never too late. Every note I wrote…
A few things: March 2018
The drought of March. In like a lion, out like a lamb. Oh, March, you unpredictable transition month. If February is the pause between inhale and exhale, March might be the incubator for an early adolescent growth spurt – fits and starts, a mix of rain, snow (for some), sun, and the first dusting of…
A few things: February 2018
For the shortest month of the year, February carried more than its weight. It was, at some points, unbearably heavy. But for those of us who stubbornly refuse to give up hope, February brought more than its fair share of that, too, mostly in the form of young promise and new energy. What teenagers lack…
Silver dust
Among our dead, returned ashes-to-ashes back to the earth, are family, friends, neighbors, four dogs, and a silver-coated cat who was blessed with canine disposition. The cat was a gift, delivered by silver Cadillac one summer afternoon, the last summer our checks came preprinted with 19___, when my tug-of-war between West and South hadn’t yet…
A few things: January 2018
“To read a poem in January is as lovely as to go for a walk in June.” – Jean-Paul Sartre Our Christmas tree sparkled clear through Epiphany and beyond, lighting that particular corner of its room for so long that we were tempted to just leave it up. “When it starts to brown, we can…
How art might save the world.
When I was small and days were most often spent with just the two of us, my mother and me, filling time as we pleased, I spent countless hours in parks and museums, wandering aimlessly and looking at trees, art, and artifacts. Our most frequent haunt was the Brooks Museum, where my mother liked to…
