The storm was over. The sun set, the full moon rose, and all was calm on Block Island—except at the bars. And islanders got ready to heave a sigh of relief at season's end.


why the boat isn't running

This is why the ferry isn't running—the wind is in the wrong quarter and there are big waves over the breakwater. Actually a couple came across the road in front of my house. I have been sleeping downstairs on the couch partly because my bed is shaking so much upstairs it wakes me up and partly because it is warmer downstairs with the propane fireplace roaring, I spent yesterday hermiting. Just reread old mystery novels, made Ed's fish stew and avoided people. Today I am more sociable.


weather report

Sorry. You can pretty much expect lots of weather news for the next four days, so if you are not interested, give me a pass. I can't help myself. I like extreme weather—whether torrential rain and thunderstorms in Missouri, nor'easters and high surf and hurricanes in Block Island or snowstorms in New York. I like fair weather, too, but like good news it doesn't make for drama. The seagulls knew something was up last night. They went crazy.


it's always naptime

The clock stopped—battery, but why replace before winter?—so now it's always quarter of naptime. Which is just as well, because a major blow is expected by the end of the week. Some folks, like my high school friend Jamie (and apparently all other prospective diners), were wise enough to clear out. Me? Oh no! I need to suffer some before my departure.


the scandalous sofa

Flip kicks back on the Sofa of Shame. Photo by Pam
 Alas, the beautiful sofa was springing leaks. I had patched it, investigated the cost of recovering it (basically much more than a new sofa) and mourned it. My sister, Erin, was at the house, and I asked her and her husband, Flip, to move it out onto the verge of the road. I often put things out there, and pretty much everything gets taken. If not, I take it to the dump.
   Erin got great amusement from watching tired cyclists take a rest and wedding guests take selfies on it. But no one took the sofa. "Flip is leaving the island and won't be back for three days," Erin told me. "What should we do about the sofa?" "Oh, just leave it there. If no one takes it you can take it to the dump when he gets back." So she did. And when Flip got back they took it to the dump.
   The Block Island Times made the sofa infamous. Wet, so it cost more to throw away than dry. For the record, the scandalous piece of furniture  was taken to the dump before this article was published. Also, I'd like to point out that it wasn't dumped "on the side of the road." Had they scooched it back into the briars and poison ivy, it would have been on my property.
   Ironically, now that I'm back on island, I see clusters of "free" items alongside the road everywhere. Corn Neck just happens to be a main road. My bad. Have I reformed? No!
I don't recognize that other piece of furniture.


my style

My style is not high style. Y'all know that. However, I attempted to put it into words for the latest and third issue of "Ideas of Order," a perfect bound and highly produced magazine put out as a kind of look book for California Closets, a company that does high-end home storage. You can see the whole Style issue here. I'm, like, on the last page. Only fitting.


foxy lady

Hannah was all over the place this week, from Block Island to the set of WPRI's "Executive Suite" program. Listen in at 13:13 for her segment. Or you can listen via podcast here. Or watch on TV this weekend. It seems like only a couple weeks ago, she was in Memphis collecting kudos from FedEx. Well, it was only a couple weeks ago, and here's what she had to say. Adulting bigtime.
Oh, and here she is with Bryan Adams. Not in the summer of 69.



There have been many miles, states and people since I last posted. Sorry. However, about to hit a period of solitude (maybe?) and play catch-up. Meanwhile this picture shows why I haven't been posting since I got to BI.


apples and oranges

 It was great to get to Jan's rustic palace and see the improvements she has made to the place. Like, can you even believe these rugs she painted on her porch? She has them all over--as doormats and throw rugs. And, yes, that's Lucy—the Brown Dog,  my father called her when he forgot her name. She is the oldest but has ceded her primacy to the large male. Jan calls him Augustus; I call him Thor. These amazing apples, which look like they came from the Garden of NoEdum, will be pie. Sorry I missed them!


birthday weekend

 The Junk Food Extravaganza was held in honor of Camilla's birthday on Friday, kicking off a weekend of water play. Chris jumped off the rock at Blue Spring, Hannah made bubbles at the slab, Camilla and Isaac blasted everyone with the squirt guns Dianne and Frank thoughtfully gifted them with, and the turtle headed for the water at every opportunity.



 There must be a catalogue where you can buy your fiberglass steeple, because there are identical ones all over around here. Just buy one, pop it on your house and call yourself a preacher. That and schisms could account for the more than 300 churches in a town of 9000 souls. This building I call the Chapel of Love.
    You can just see the Goose in the background.
 Can you see the beware of dog sign? There is no dog. This is Randy and Virginia's rent house next door to the Goose. There is no dog, but there are likely raccoons and skunks.
 I liked this guy's perfectly manicured lawn and cherry car in contrast to what looks like a deserted mobile home. He did not know what I was doing when I stopped in front, and came out the door. Without a gun. I explained that I liked the way the red car looked, and he was satisfied. I asked if he wanted me to send a picture. He said no.

This place is not for rent. In fact, nothing is for rent there any more. It is for sale.



 I apologize for not writing in more frequently and also for the extremely unflattering pix of my new/old neighbors. What I want to show in these pictures is their river cabin (or shack, as some term it) just across the road from me in T'ville. It's basically one, big L-shaped room. And being as it's on the river bank, it, too, was wiped out by the flood. It's been totally redone.
   But it is the first time that I've ever had friends living here in T'ville, and it's so fun to have people wandering over to borrow a grater or have a cocktail. When we got together before, one of us always lived a half hour away. Because while Bill, an artist, had owned the place forever—and indeed convinced me to buy here—he never lived here while I was in residence. He only came out to mow the lawn or by special invitation. But he sold the farm (better than buying it!) and moved to Arizona with Carla, and now T'ville is their foothold in the Ozarks. Welcome home!