Category: What’s Called Home

In which I discuss places around this place we call home, in various stages of undress.

Sunny Surprise: Going Back in Time to 2012

Summer Rocks!!

(This post is a part of the #reverb16… what’s that? Check it out!) The prompt for today’s #reverb16 calls for me to channel the warmth of the tropics (despite our New England locale). Prompt #6: Sunny Surprises. Most of North America starts to get frosty and cold this time of year. If you had an unusually warm…

My (Internal) Midwestern Landscape

Midwestern Thunderstorm

Here is the look of the Midwest in a summer storm. To me, this landscape is not only the most familiar, it is the most comforting. How can a sky look so forbidding — so menacing and beautiful — but we are not allowed to do so? I was 14 and in my first year…

It’s good to hug a person

Ten years ago I lived on Delaware Road in London. Colin had gotten himself half-addicted to internet poker (mostly because he understood the algorithms) and I, in an attempt to connect with him in on his online poker island, suggested writing a couple’s poker blog. It was adorable… called “Poker Sweet Home: Married to the Flop”. It…

Love all the People

Kids. Boy we sure do love ’em. Even people who don’t actually like kids I bet would be pretty quick to acknowledge that kids — although sometimes a pain — are love machines. They make it. They reflect it. They live it. They embody it. They are our teachers in it. So we love the…

What Writing Looks Like

The Writers Room NYC

What Writing Looks LikeThere’s a romance to the idea of writing. When you tell someone you are a writer, they are often all like “ooohhh whoa soooo cool!” Why is that? Well it’s pretty much because READING is awesome. It’s hellaciously awesome, the single best thing in the wide world to do with any amount…

It’s Just the Weather – #reverb14, Day 3

Just the Weather

I don’t feel like a constant. I feel like super balls in a thunderstorm.It’s all too easy to put off loving where we are until everything is perfect. What can you love about where you are now? Blergh. If I were a weather man, that’s how I would describe the weather today. Cold, damp, rainy,…

On My Mother’s Island

All of life is a thing marked and used.This is the island where my mother is still living. There is not a great deal of the “normal” here. We are just a bunch of hangers on. For those of us here, we are eating off the breadcrumb trail from whence we came. There is a lot…

After the End of the World

Mom is dying and Halloween goes on.After the doctor broke the news to my mom and dad and me that mom would die soon, I held onto the 15 cent spiral notebook like it was a life raft. There isn’t enough time to ask and get answers to the really big questions in life before…

This is home

Happy at Happy Joe's in LeClaire

Two flights, five burgers at the Atlanta TGI Friday’s airport location. A bag of gummy Lifesavers, and of course, the real lifesavers: four headsets, an iPad and two iPhones with digital movies. One hour’s drive, and we are home. By home, I mean. HOME. Not Iowa, the place I grew up. I mean: here. Connecticut.…

On Having to Cut Down a Tree

Is it worth being sentimental over one tree? The last time I mentioned to friends that we might have to cut down our two huge Norway maples, one FB friend replied “good riddance. They are invasive species to New England anyway.” I sometimes think that our attachments to trees or cars or other “stuff” isn’t…

What We Did in Summer

Aniah and The Swimming Pool

My memory of my youth is a haze of fine particulate.I don’t remember what I did in the summer as a kid. Not specifically. I remember that I played outside with the neighbor kids and my siblings. We rode bikes and ran around. I went on vacation with my family. There was the library and…

Our Memories Become Theirs

How the Past Travels ForwardAt the beginning of my parenting experience, I said “no” often. The noise and the mess was a lot to handle. Not to mention the plain issue of just keeping track of where all the little live bodies were in space and time. And what they were planning to put in…

Without Remembering

Another sunrise, another lifeCreating is not remembering… It is to look and to hear and to write — without remembering. It is the immediate feelings arranged in words as they occur to me.” — Gertrude Stein We are all in our ruts, our patterns, our habits. It’s a relief, I suppose, to discover they are…

When I’m Wearing Home Shoes

These are my “home shoes.” I don’t mean slippers or anything like that. What I mean is: when I am wearing this shoe configuation — ie. tennis shoes and blue jeans — I feel “home.” It’s a cultural thing. And a family thing. Growing up, this is what we wore: white tennis shoes, blue jeans,…