Category Archives: winter, spring, summer, fall

Fire and ice 3/4/26

The world is on fire, and still I want to live.

Here, there is ice. Sleet fell during the night and now early sun sets the encased branches to sparkling. A neighborhood canopied by tiaras, a festival of light. Treachery on the road perhaps, but just look up! There: unspeakable beauty. I want you to see it.

Every day dishes up contradiction or irony or befuddling complexity. Today I find irony — the sidewalks that have been fastidiously cleared are the most dangerous while the ones where the crunchy snow remains offer secure traction.

Sun makes the branches’ icy sleeves melt and it sounds like rain. Plippety-plop. Can you hear it? Does it do something to your soul to hear it?

Where the road dips down to the school, the field is ringed in a softening mist and though I’ve lived here more than 30 years, it is a novel sight. Funny that. How the ordinary can offer up some kind of miracle. Completely unbidden. Nature’s adornment, weather’s surprise — life still worth living.

It’s Wednesday, March 4, 2026. I think I’ll make butternut squash soup. I’ve got ginger. I’ve got a chicken carcass to make stock. I have a little heavy cream to splash in the bowl and fresh cilantro or parsley to sprinkle on top.

Sounds good, eh?

Friday at The Clark, I

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It was such a gorgeous day, we walked a pretty loop out back. Lots of people were enjoying sun — most of the Adirondack chairs occupied.

The drive from Schenectady offered up one lovely view after another, though the colors were a long way from peak.

Happy Monday! Today and Friday are “clear days,” otherwise it’s a somewhat busy week here.

April 12, 2025

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Just walked around the block in a light drizzle — the snow from last night gone. There are at least five Seders happening on my street right now. If I’d stayed inside, I wouldn’t have known. This, for some reason, makes me sad. Ken is watching Antiques Roadshow. We had leftovers for dinner. Can you believe it’s been less than 100 days?

Considering publishing chapters here of various forays into fiction that may never go on to being part of a novel.

Then again, why?

Also, hesitating to publish recent rants. Is it true what they’re saying about phones being grabbed and searched at airports? We go to Boulder in a few weeks. If I bring my cane will I look less like a sharp-tongued critic of the regime? The slippery slope is greased with rancid oil. Whoops!

Speaking of disgusting, those are not ancho chilies. They’re desiccated, frozen bananas and they could date back ten years. Today we tackled a few shelves of the upstairs freezer. It’s nice when things are so clearly meant for the garbage!

We intended to go to the local dump’s paper shredding hours this morning but were too late. So instead I threw out archives related to my sister directly into recycling. Tax returns, applications for subsidized housing, student debt relief correspondence, SSDI advocacy letters, ECOB application to cover COBRA payments until MassHealth kicked in, correspondence with utilities, landlords, banks. On and on and on. The weight of it all. But what to say that hasn’t been said? At least I could comfortably bundle up the piles and toss them without worry. There’s no identity left to steal.

It’s out of the teens and — poop?

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It’s out of the teens but still pretty cold. The upstairs furnace is dying and never kicked on last night. I can hear it trying. Ken usually rises before I do and today is no exception. Before he heads down to make coffee, he slides the curtains open making the metal ring-clips go clickety clack.

“Fire up my blanket,” I say from under the comforter.

That would be my electric blanket. The greatest new possession since the Dyson battery-operated stick vacuum arrived.

Today’s the reading at Newtonville Bookstore. I’m pretty excited. Thank you all again for your words of encouragement.

And there’s this. Boulder Bookstore. Notice anything? D. took these pix yesterday.

PS is there something wrong with me that I fully expected to see the constipated cow on All Creatures Great and Small take a massive and relieving dump and was disappointed to be denied? Yes. The answer is yes. But you know what? I was properly pleased to hear Maddow announce recently that she has an eight-year-old’s sense of humor and will forever find poop references funny. “And farts!” I might’ve said aloud to the TV.

PPS The other time I recently responded out loud to the TV was when that river cruise ad came on. “Shut her up!” You know the one that plays before PBS programming? I swear the announcer has a fake British accent. It’s a win if we get it muted before she says, “iconic landscapes.” Ugh.

PPPS. Best screen moment yesterday was reading this letter. Maybe it’s only a delay, BUT IT MATTERS.

Bookstore order!

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Pink, orange, and red tinge leaves and petals this time of year.

Black walnuts drop like artillery — thuds if they hit the ground, slap-tangs if they hit tarmac or a car. I’m so glad that the two walnut trees on the lot line don’t overhang our driveway. Thankfully, the neighbors who park in the driveway captured below disabled their car alarms.

No, I won’t be dyeing cloth with this bounty. I’m still too busy and/or drained by figuring out book sales and distribution networks.

The happy news is that a local book ambassador’s review of The Weight of Cloth caught the eye of my local bookstore. Within minutes, they ordered 20 copies!

Now independent bookstores need a deep discount, making my teeny royalty even teenier, but I think it’s worth it. Can’t wait to see my book on their table.

Before ordering the 20 copies, I had to fix to a bunch of typos — those elusive fuckers — and by I had to fix I mean Ken had to fix. A patient man, lucky me. Next time I will hire a copy editor.

There were so many typos, in fact, that I could rank them a little. My favorite? The one in the acknowledgments where I’m thanking my editor. I’m not sure if that’s more embarrassing than hilarious or the other way ‘round.