Dylan Thomas’ beautiful Poem in October contains these lines: My birthday began with the water birds And the birds of the winged trees flying my name Above the farms and the white horses And I rose in a rainy autumn And walked abroad in shower of all my days I wasn’t born in October, but…
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More than six months have slipped by since I last wrote. We are now just about half way through our sojourn in Pleasant Hill, thinking more and more about our return to Otsego County. I’m not sure why I’ve taken such a long break from writing, but I’ve certainly been busy. Jay and I made…
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The period of dormancy for deciduous trees is so short here in Northern California. Leaves turn in November and many still cling to their branches past Christmas. In late January the air filled with the buzz of chainsaws and the shouts of workers high in the trees calling to their fellows on the ground as…
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The last time an egret triggered me to write a post was in the summer of 2018 when we were visiting California for a few months, interrupting our stay on Sunnyhill in Hartwick. In 2018 an egret flew across 880 as we were driving from Palo Alto to Livermore, a wild thing in a man…
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It was a wonderful place to make noise. The large, high-ceilinged, lobby had a tile floor and hard surfaces everywhere, so every noise echoed beautifully. We loved to come up the outside steps with our roller skates on and skate across the lobby making a fabulous racket. That tile floor was so perfectly smooth, it…
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Ooops! This should have been published between Dad – part 2 and Prolet. I inadvertently left it in draft status. I suppose that coming to terms with my parents’ humanity and frailties has been an essential part of my own maturing. My Dad was, in so many ways, a wonderful father, and I am deeply…
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One of the great pleasures of living in Pleasant Hill (in California – where we will be for another 19 months) is walking along the canal-side trail that intersects our street. It’s a lovely trail, full of friendly walkers, many, like me, with their dog companions. Just a few days after we moved here in…
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My older sister Shayne, of blessed memory, was born in 1946, and I was born in ‘48, early Boomers. Our parents, Shayne and I shared the single bedroom of my mother’s parents’ one bedroom apartment, and my grandparents slept in the living room. That was the arrangement from the end of the war, when Mom…
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He was the best of dads, he was the worst of dads. It’s an appealing line, but not quite true. My Dad was, simply, a great dad. His failings were not as a father, but as a husband and as a friend. It isn’t his failings I remember when I think of him, nor are…
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