My friend The Swede sent me this one Just Today. She sends wonderful poems. And for the world of memory that is always tugging at the corners of my mind, this one seemed particularly appropriate. We are Always Too Late MemoryIs in two parts. First the re-visiting: the way even now I can seethose lovers … More Too Late
That’s the title of another post I’ve written today, but it’s over at “my” other blog, the one I contribute to from time to (nearly not often enough) time. If you’d like to read a little something about My Emma, then head over there. And read the Other Stuff while you’re there, too. It’s all … More put algae in bowl. put a littel of grass.
Bill’s parents, Bill and Carolyn, made our trip to the Caribbean possible, you know. I mean, I did have to get permission (and a substitute) to leave school for a week. And Bill did have (happily) a week’s worth of personal days left at his old job so that he could get away. But even … More Pay-Backs
A day in the British Virgin Islands… was like something out of a television commercial with, of course, your obligatory beach rooster and water the way you’ve always known it could be.
we docked in St. Thomas, in the U.S. Virgin Islands where old, converted warehouses hide narrow, cobbled throughways and where rum abounds! We took this photo just for you, Peg Leg! We Love You!
So my younger sister Emily (the one who is an editor for Merriam-Webster— yes, the dictionary), gave me a page-a-day calendar for Christmas. A page-a-day of words. What a great gift for me. I’m loving it on several levels, and the first is also the most base: I Love it when I already know the … More Page-a-Day
There are in our existence spots of timeWhich with distinct preeminence retainA fructifying virtue, whence, depressedBy trivial occupations and the roundOf ordinary intercourse, our minds–Especially the imaginative power–Are nourished and invisibly repaired…. — William Wordsworth, The Two-Part Prelude of 1799
Every year I shed you like a skinto fall to the ground and be scattered by the windbut I know you’ll keep coming backyour grand entrance like some aphrodesiac and I love to watch you exit the scenewalking away in slow-motion in your dirty blue jeanssomething about you just loves to walk awaybut I don’t … More A Song for Bill
It happens– easily– once a week, and this despite the fact that I do laundry Almost Daily. I just don’t do white loads daily, and herein lies the problem. This morning was, apparently, the foreordained day for the weekly occurrence: Will standing somewhere on the first floor of the house, barefooted, announcing to me that … More At Our House