pity the poor postal workers

Back in the city where bombs are mailed in daily and a storm is imminent. Just as well, perhaps, to be out of the journalism  biz and going out of town. This pipe bomber can't be very technologically adept or he (yes, I'm making assumptions) would have better info and execution and addresses. Fortunately, my peeps don't scare easily.


a long story

I always swore after Hannah's wedding on Block Island that I would never hold another wedding there or even encourage wedding guests. However, these were special circumstances.
  Hmm. So nigh on 40 years ago, I bought this property with my former husband and brother-in-law. Douglas and I had Hannah, who grew up summering on Block Island, and sadly, in the summer after high school, she fell in love with S. Now S already had a child with J, and when Hannah fled the East Coast for S in Oregon, she wound up with part time care of J and S's daughter, N.
   Time passed, as did the relationship with S, but Hannah stayed in touch with J and N, especially when N wound up at RISD in Providence. Not long ago, J asked Hannah if she could rent Hannah's house on Block Island for her wedding. I said okay. I did not know they were planning to get married on our property, but when I saw them trying to get out of the wind and cold, I offered them a little archway of bayberry behind my house. The officiant was s's father, Just as J began her march from Hannah's to Claudia's, the sun came through.
  The next day when the bridal party was packing up to leave, Douglas was sitting at my kitchen table. I tried to explain who they were, and Douglas said, "I don't know any of these people." I said, "You do too! M is a friend of yours!" He said, "M?" and ran precipitately out the door to find him.



closing time

 Two views of the porch. All that remains is to haul in the beach chairs and porch furniture, hide the candles and soap from the mice, decommission the refrigerators, toss the flowers, put all detergents and any liquids in pails (so that if they freeze they don't go anywhere), clear access to all pipes for the plumbers, unplug appliances, dispose of food, clean and turn off the gas. In two houses. (And not a moment too soon. It was 38 degrees last night. Inside.) Wake up in  the night thinking I forgot something.
Jamie McGlone DuPont's photo of the not yet put-away porch.


seasons go round and round

The apple tree is blooming again, and the sparrows are nesting in the corner of the porch. But then last night, it was bitter cold for this time of year—lower 40s. I feel sorry for the newlyweds inhabiting my other house. And for me, with my untoward utility bills.
   This should be, and is, the season of asters.


outside my window

And yes, I should be outside, but I am not. I am inside, writing, for the next couple of days. Donna wants her intro written on a real typewriter. Does anyone still have on that is operational? I have two, but have no ribbons and have pretty much forgotten how to put them in. Duh!
Signed, All digital all the time.


yeah, i know

I've been a bad blogger. But that's because I'm booking for next season. That, and I better write Donna Ferrato's intro pretty darn quick. Meanwhile, it's cold, so I'm booking from bed.
  And speaking of booking. My friend Peter Meyer has finally opened up his Air bnb in Hudson NY. I gave it a trial run last fall (already!), and it's great. Couldn't be better situated from the main street. Here is the link.


we were ever bookish

 And now, more than 50 years later, we are two PhDs (Elizabethan Theater and Linguistics) and a writer. And all wearing glasses. More on the 50th reunion later.


the crew

Pete, the gas guy, goes off island to pick up his gas truck and get more gas.

John, the heroic roofer, is kept busy by the family.
 It takes a while to gather a group of people to take care of things you cannot. And once you finally have, they start getting older (just like me) and you have to switch them out to keep going. Some, like Peter, the gas guy, are training up the next generation. But will they know how to light the pilots on a Chambers stove? Or how to wiggle the switch on the propane fireplace? Will they want to put on foul weather gear to climb around steep roofs? Or know how to shingle? Where's the tricksy outdoor shower or the shutoff valve in the ground? But the real issue is trust. These people have access to my life in the most basic way, and I to theirs. That trust takes years in the building.
John Henry, with his sister (left),  is incapacitated due to ALS. He can't lift his arms.


off island

 Made it onto the 8:15 boat yesterday, standby. I was the last vehicle on. I had caught my breath by the time I reached New York, but then I had plenty of time to, well, not relax, but sit. It took me an hour to find a parking space. I got lucky.

Leaving Block Island in the wake.



 And so a string of two perfect days ended this morning in clouds. Stay tuned for more Block Island weather. But tomorrow I head for New York and my 50th (!)  high school reunion. That should give me something to write about!