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Yet More Days
Oct. 2009. Brett and Barbara in SFO for the week. Dash and I here live as bachelors and struggle along just fine. Came home today from school pickup, w/backpack, w/bags of groceries. The usual. The cat...
View ArticleWet Freckles Evaporate Fast
12-29-10. Went with the cordless phone out to the mud room, which is freezing cold, to sit in the old couch and talk by long-distance to the nice lady at “Iowa Cremation,” to make the arrangements...
View ArticleThe Blockhead Meatphysician
December 27, 2011 Barbara will have surgery on the thirtieth. Needs an artery in her neck unblocked of plaque. She’s not being very brave about it. We tend to try not to bring it up at all. * * * *...
View ArticleThe Fictive Trance
[october 24]* * * * December 31, 2012 Home again. Squinting. At this lattitude sunshine is low in the windshield and sour. Split wood in the afternoon. (these English-speaking lattitudes, these heavily...
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A Newer Leaf
December 31, 2013 New Years Eve. Brett must go all the way down to Manteca, in the pickup, to buy a kitchen stove. The old Wolf oven in Squaw Valley has been “red-tagged,” i.e., condemned, by the local...
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Good Kindling
December 30, 2014 Pre-dawn airport run. A well-learned Life Rule: After dropping off somebody you love at an airport, a shapeless formless dim day will ensue. Wonderful how the NY Times is so skimpy...
View ArticleThou Bookend Now, Thou Paperweight
December 27, 2015 Hunter to airport. Three am. Back to Wash DC. (R.N. has him detecting deceptive language in consumer contracts. He’s the right man for the job.) Nap back at home. Send out the last...
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December 31, 2015 The accidental-pregnancy scene in “Assistant” improves, via indirection, and via removal of late-added rank schmaltz. The rest of the felled oak at bottom of woods. Couldn’t face...
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Nov. 18, 2018 No wind. Sunny silence in mountains all around. Getting out of a job of work, I tell Brett I’ve got to go back inside and “make tracks.” Unproductive morning so far, I got roped...
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Jan 28, 2021Global pandemic, midwinter. My woodpile, berm-shaped, is longer than the house. Cold nights I’m working my way along through it, a very hungry caterpillar. It’s been a year now, of...
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