Category: What’s Called Home

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

Joyce Carol Oates 1, Professor Buttercup 0

At the Quick Center in Fairfield yesterday (where I was invited generously by my new buddy Carol), a simple author event became a righteous example of what happens when you are a man-professor of a certain ilk, with certain ideas about the world, and you set your puffed-rice expectations against a heady, hidden genius. I…

The Uphill Battle

Three hours of my time, this weekend, was spent doing this (see photo, right). If you had a look at my yard right now, of course, you’d have absolutely zero inkling that any form of rake had ever touch it. As an estimate, we have 427,783 trees in our yard. Now, this might be an…

While he was running, I stood here still

For Denny, who ran the marathon yesterday Not every To Do list has value, even in completion. Accomplishments fill time. They tire you to your bones, make you sleep better. But they are just done things, sometimes. Stand in this group if you run in circles to wear yourself out, to alleviate the boredom. Come…

Postcard from Kansas

If you’re wondering where people go when they don’t update their blogs for a few days, it might be Kansas. It might be to visit old friends. To stop and sit on a sofa, holding a fussy baby and wonder “Is this what is meant by vacation?” It might be that time you spend, stopping…

The 4x4s that Ate Connecticut

… Or, Why We Can’t Find Our Car in our “Green” State Connecticut is a “blue” state which means that it generally votes democrat. It’s full of “liberals” running around shopping at Trader Joes and farmer’s markets, buying organic and bringing that GREEN hue to every statement they make. Hence the theme for today’s eco-rant, brought…

Message from the Coffeehouse

Being friends with other writers is always an elaborate game of Telephone: I’ve got Dixie Cups attached to email and blog strings all over the world. Here’s one whisper from Jenn, today, a new writing friend in the Small State. She sends regards from Stephen King, a fellow Stratfordian (he grew up here anyway) from…

The Return of the Karmic Lawn Mower

 About five years ago, Silvia and Alex Torres gave me their lawn mower because they didn’t need it in their move back to Tampico. It was a good thing, too, because the lawn mower I had was stolen out of my garage that I never kept locked. It was a good thing too, because it…

Love me, Love my Generalization

I am not nice. It’s true. I quite often say not nice things (albeit TRUE things) for the sake of a laugh. Why? Because people are a pain. Not individually, naturally. One-on-one, I quite like everyone. It’s just all these heaving crowds of generalizations I can’t stand! Get them out of here! EAST COAST GIRLS…

Pooping Dogs, Booming Thunder and Other Traffic Hazards

It stands to reasons that a state within smelling distance from NYC, with only two major, parallel, “North-South” roads, 3.5 million residents and acre-sized residential lots, there will be some traffic. Now, I am not opposed to spending some time in my car. In fact, I adore being alone in my car, despite my green…

Having a Fit in America

Having landed safely and been released through Homeland Security, it all begs the first burning question: What is the first thing you buy in the Land of Capitalism after living in Europe for three years? That’s right. A car. Tainted by the foolish, small-car-ways of European car makers (they invented something called a “SmartCar” for…

Gordon versus the Empire

Bill Buford’s recent article on Gordon Ramsay’s slog in the U.S. (“The Taming of the Chef: Can Gordon Ramsay make it here?” April, 3, 2007 ) has me thinking again about the sins and virtues of the Ramsay Holdings pub venture, and the exhausting drive my darling head chef is taking into my homeland. I…

Off Season

In the off season, all things gay and wild and full of choleric swirl give way to a hangdog mood. No pink flying discs or overturned sandcastle buckets. In the off season, there are silences in unexpected pockets. Silences filling the wide open days, broken only by a gull cry, a car door, the once…

Amsterdam in Three Days

AmsterdamClick above to view Photos At the last minute, Colin and I decided we couldn’t leave Europe without a trip to Amsterdam. This is the sort of trip that makes me wonder about all those OTHER places I haven’t seen yet: what IF? What if I am missing out on the place of my dreams?…

Home for the Holidays

When you go back home, it isn’t quite the same. I drove by 4245 Wyoming today. It was still brick and stucco and the porch that was all mine was still there. Yet it was like an amputated body part, lifeless and still, in the wet December rain. You cannot go back, I think. Even…