War’s End???

—From CB— The air is full of smoke from forest fires 150 miles away. I’m reading Dickens and Barbara Kingsolver and the 17th Century Simplicissimus, with Orlando Furioso waiting in the wings. Trump is trumpeting, votes are being counted, and bombs are falling in...

On the Way Home . . .

  —From EF— We’re in limbo. As I write, it’s election day. We’re driving up the I-5, having spent the last week at a theatre conference in Arizona. Now we’re neither here nor there in any way. The outcome of the election is yet to be known. Our theatre friends and...

A Polish Table . . .

—From CB— We hold a deep mystery in our lives: the Polish table. In 1970, we took our second trip to Europe. As in the year before, it was three months and two people on a Lambretta 150cc motor scooter, about 50 km/hr. with our camping gear on the back. From London...

First, Last . . .

—EF— Our Italian daughter sent two beautiful and poignant photos this weekend, both of the Mediterranean at Piombino. It’s the end of the swimming season, and her titles were “The penultimate swim,” and “I guess this was the last.” Swimming is very important to her...

My Birthday . . .

—From CB— This week was my birthday. I turned seventy-seven. A DJ announced a song by the Indigo Girls. I heard their name as the Evening Overalls. Senility has its perks. I was born in 1941, two months before Pearl Harbor, of which I was unaware, being politically...

Centering . . .

—From EF— Turning upside down in order to center. Doesn’t sound plausible, but bear with me. When we take our normal picnic to our ritual ocean-bluff spot, we look at the biggest rock out west and see the slim black silhouettes of seven or eight or nine black...

Presence. . .

—From CB— The state of the world can make it difficult to write a blog. Countless topics offered, but with all the heavy ones—the SCOTUS hearings, climate change, perpetual war—I fear that everything that can be said has already been said: to say more has merely an...

Ireland . . .

—From EF— It rains, it rains, and the air is rich with ravens — swooping, quorking unsolicited instructions . . . Sounds like a good opening for an Irish song, but it’s just what came into my mind as I was beginning to think of this week’s blog. Today, Sunday, we’re...

Emigrants . . .

—From CB— We’re the sort of tourists who can marvel at the scenery and traipse through every sort of museum, but we seem to gravitate toward paleolithic tombs, cemeteries, and various locales of atrocity. Today: an artifact recalling the Irish Famine. The workhouse...

Jet-setting, Economy Style

—From EF— We’re reveling in our daughter Johanna’s pocket paradise in Tuscany, breathing the scented air and eating her amazing cookery, but we really paid our dues to get here. The three-airplane bounce from Dublin to Amsterdam to Milan was tedious, yes, but that was...

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