Wednesday, March 30, 2011

free to good home

There were explanations that it wasn't actually a recent arrival, that it was the tenth generation of shaggy street dogs, from a field dog kept by one of the original farmers, bred down through the years and becoming a free range mascot, but while the Historical Society tried to oblige most seekers of local knowledge, there was in fact no evidence whatsoever of a historic link to the canine. Not that dogs frequently appear in newspapers, of course, but one high school senior had written her final thesis on the story of the dog, and had read through most letters and diaries in the town archives, without ever once finding a reference to a town dog.



reading
The company we keep : a husband-and-wife true-life spy story / Robert and Dayna Baer

weather
I don't care if we're scheduled to receive an April Fool's Day foot-o-snow. I'm still buying a kayak.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

memoir

One night we had piano, trombone, and accordion, and played Christmas carols with a Sousa rhythm, and the time we had piano, harmonica, and cello we pulled off some passable variations on folk songs. That must have been the night that the hot shot city newspaper critic was slumming at the bar, because we managed to sing most of the choruses and sounded almost together on the downbeats. We still weren't a band, but the critic either had a spiteful sense of humor or incredibly bad taste, because the roadhouse was written up in the travel section, and special mention was made to the "effervescent qualities of the deconstructed and reimagined organic talents of the freshest bluegrass group this side of Appalachia, The House Band."

reading
finally finished Nightingale Wood / Stella Gibbons

weather
well, taxes are done, one day it might deign to be spring

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

home base

Other things had been off, just enough to suggest a hangover or an impending bout of the flu or something very important and yet just out of reach: the coffee never came to a boil, the toast didn't quite reach that color of medium tan that one expects, the shower was tepid, and the cat sauntered off without waiting to be fed. Socks were missing, shirts lacked buttons, and it took longer than usual to successfully turn off the alarm clock. None of these were unusual in the cosmic sense, but they gathered and simmered below the surface in a stew of things not quite working, which in the rush of a morning are inconveniences without being actual problems.


reading
best excuse ever for owning a full expanded set of the Oxford English Dictionary: a support for physical therapy knee & lateral quad exercises.

weather
foggy frosty mornings (& yet another lost umbrella)

Wednesday, March 9, 2011

penitence



Was it Fat Tuesday over-indulgence (salmon, and an edition of crepes!) or the invasion of a microscopic foreign super-power?

Regardless, DYP! is out cold, and will see you next week.

Wednesday, March 2, 2011

then


We were there, on the lawn, having tea, not because we were hungry for tea cakes or because it was a bright Sunday and tea tastes better outdoors under such circumstances, for neither of these were true; the tea cakes were dry and held very little appeal; the day, while bright, was not warm; nor was it even a Sunday. Rather, we had been posted as sentries on the lawn, a combination welcoming station and line of defense against intrusion, for with our best dresses and curled hair we were to frustrate any advances from invaders, not allowing them access to whatever was to be kept secret at the main house.





reading
a feast of Sándor Márai, a trio of novels, one newly translated

weather
three degrees // far too late in the season for this