neece teeth

Someone has a smile that changed this week. It now hurts to smile—and do everything else!
Some people grow up to have braces. Others grow up to have interminable pregnancies. And like my real estate lady friend says, "The tenth month is the longest."

Nope. No baby yet.

As for the niece, she's not a baby any more.

the traveling underpants II, part 1

I am so very confused. When last seen, the traveling underpants, the ones that originated in Alabama and traveled to several locales in the Northeast, were adorning a tiny equine in Missouri. At that point they vanished into the ether.
   I was then informed that I had left them in Alabama on my last visit there. This is untrue. I have never either brought men's u-trou to Alabama nor have I ever left any there. I do not travel with men's u-trou!
   Well, actually, that turns out to be a lie, because when I went to take my stuff out of Hannah's car when I arrived at my sister's house, I found a spurious plastic bag in the back of the car with the above pair of pale blue underwear.
   Note that these are not the same underwear as the other ones. Check out the past pix. In retracing my steps, I realized that my sister must have brought them back from Alabama and secreted them in Hannah's car the last time I visited her. My sister, I mean.
   The whole thing makes me very suspicious! I believe that my stepmother in Alabama is planting men's u-trou in her dryer and claiming they were left there by me which they were not! I cannot understand what her rationale might be for this stunt. Perhaps she bought a three-pak. We'll know when another pair "magically" appears in her wash after I've visited.
   I know this: If I want this pair to vanish, too, all I have to do is send them to Missouri.

the muffins and the snake

Was this an old episode of I Love Lucy or was it really happening? The mister is trying to deal with the kitchen sink,  clogged with something nasty and extremely recalcitrant, and at that exact time, in the exact same space,  the missus decides to undertake a massive muffin-baking project. You could only watch it unfold like a ping-pong game.
". . . raisins or blueberries?"
". . . 25-foot snake. . ."
". . . need  chopped walnuts. . ."
". . . omigod another bucket. Mop! Mop!"
". . .substitute butter for shortening?"
". . .think I flushed it down the toilet. . ."
". . .pass me two eggs?"
". . .pass me the plunger?"
". . .nutmeg smells really good. . ."
". . .this is disgusting. . ."
As of this morning, there are a dozen blueberry muffins in the freezer and a pile of dirty dishes on every available surface in the kitchen. Tune in tomorrow . . .

double life

It happened gradually. He was a software developer, a brilliant one, and he started exploring Second Life, the alternate reality platform on the web. He became increasingly engrossed. Once a roadie for Blue Oyster Cult, he is also a musician, and he started to play "live" gigs on the web. He bought a bar in Second Life and began to sell CDs. His real-life coworkers worried when he stopped playing real gigs, but he was making real money on line in U.S. $$. He met someone in SL. Presumably they had cybersex. He divorced his real life wife and married his on-line lover. He shows office mates her picture in his wallet.  Actually, a picture of her avatar. "It's a cartoon!" one friend says. He and the little woman have never met in person.
    I know his names, both of them. I want looking for him in Second Life, but I am such an idiot I can't figure out how to navigate there. I did find videos of some of his SL gigs on You Tube. (And I  recalled a 1974 blind date with Murray Krugman, a former producer of the Blue Oyster Cult. It was backstage at a concert, and Patti Smith was there and maybe even this roadie. But who introduced me to Krugman?) Anyway, is having a second life weird or what? With my new phone, I can walk around with double vision, too, texting and talking away to little avatars of my friends in far-flung locales. How different are we from this guy?

the yoga of photography

World Renowned Shutterbug Chien-Chi Chang paid a flying visit to Woonsocket, R.I., in the Interest of Art. He had two round pictures on his contact sheet and thought that a picture of a pregnant person on a yoga ball would fit in nicely. For this he was willing to travel, one way,  three-and-a-half hours on a train and another half hour by car for a visit that didn't even last 24 hours. He got to try out the yoga ball though.

labor day?

We are taking bets on when the action will occur, but the expectant couple is packed and ready. Water. CK Snacks. CK Nightgown, baby clothes, toiletries. CK CK CK. She Who Makes the Lists also packed the paper for the placenta print. Yes, placenta print. Who knew?
   Looks like any day now. I'm hoping before I go back to Block Island. Bet on your date below.

biding time

There's time to do all the last minute things—rearrange the closets, buy the bottles, clean the house, assemble the stroller, install the car seat. Because really what we're doing is waiting. Any day now. . .

all ashore

With seas expected to reach 9 feet today, the last ferry left the island at 8:15 ayem this morning. The surfers were already out in front of Claudia's Surf City waiting for a good set when most of the remaining tourists left yesterday. Doesn't sound like it will be a very serious storm. We'll see tonight.

sharper than a serpent's tooth

In my blast-through buttoning up and battening down the hatches yesterday, I looked at my two best knives, sharpened to a fare-thee-well by Dada. My guess is that these would be the ones certain teenagers were throwing at the door. One has totally disappeared. And there are metal knife points in the chopping block. From now on people can use el cheapo knives. And those particular people will not be back next year.
    Meanwhile, I'm going to beat the storm off island today. Feels odd to be leaving in a dead calm, but a friend in New Jersey says the waves are already whipping up there.  Houses now crowded with Adirondack chairs, hammocks, boogie boards and outdoor rockers, but presumably the redoubtable Santanas will deal with that. And all else. Their son lost his mainland house in the spring floods, and we're hoping it will not come to that this time.

my name is earl

It's hard to believe in the stillness and blue of this morning that it's a comin' for us, but that's what they say. Meanwhile, I have to be on the mainland for the weekend, so I guess I better leave tomorrow. That means taking in the porch furniture, closing storm doors,  tying down the barbie, moving boats ashore and generally trying to reduce the number of flying objects. Nothing I can do about the ocean coming into the front yard. Doubt the two housefuls of vacationers who are meant to arrive Friday will be able to.
Like most islanders, I'd really rather ride it out.  I remember choppering in to Cape Hattaras with a FEMA medical team in the wake of Hurricane Floyd. The good folk of Ocracoke had been partying since the storm started to veer towards them and were running out of alcohol. "If y'all wanted to save us," one guy told the docs, "you shoulda sent AA."

block island love boat

The family season is winding down—at least for families with school-age kids—and the season of lovers is upon us. Couples can be caught canoodling all over Block Island—and on the way to it. I say go for it and get a room. Better yet a house. I know a couple hideaways, and off-season rates are $1000 less. See pix and rental info at right.

sunup, today

Block Island is wonderful. The weather is heaven, the houses are beautiful, and life is good. The only thing missing is you.

lakeside

They came, they swam, they gifted.

shower forecast

Today is Chris and Hannah's baby shower at his mama's likeside. Unlike the above pic taken in Woonsocket a couple weeks ago, the weather is perfect: sunny with just the tiniest tint in the color of the light to hint that summer will soon be over. Enjoy it now.

belly of the beast

The clan is gathering at the lake tomorrow to celebrate the child who will be arriving within the month—after the longest and most photographed pregnancy ever.

In other roundup news, did you see the Times article about the Castle in the Ozarks?
And here's Hannah's cousin Harry's reel.
How about Chien-Chi Chang's Escape from North Korea?

needy pets

Not every member of the family is eagerly awaiting the new arrival. Jealous, jealous.

grandparents

As requested, the pic of the kidz with their grandmotherz, just about four years ago on their wedding day.

landmark

What is this? Where is it? When I see this object, I will know that I am closing in on my destination today.  Yes, travel fans, I am once again leaving New York City.

    Would you like to know how the craigslist ad for the Goose worked out? I am so excited! I got the following two responses from different E mail addresses:

    My name is bonke said,I will like to know if my Wife and i can spend 3 nights at your place.We will like to know if you have Sept 7 to 10 available.I will like you to get back to me with the cost and availability. Thanks

Hello,
To Whom It May Concern,My Name Is tyler burris.I Will Like To Check If  My Wife and I can Use 4night At Your Place(5,6,7,8 sept 2010).We Are Coming From United Kingdom For Our Vacation,I Want You To Mail Me The Availability Date And The Total Cost For The Rent.
Thanks
God Bless You.

I'm particularly excited about the second one! All the way from London to spend four nights at the Goose in the middle of Nowheresville, travel fans! I will write back soonest. I am pretty sure they will want to send me a check immediately! And you can tell they're good tenant because they both have Wife!

next: seeds and stems

My mother calls herself "The Grandma Moses of Poetry."
She will be 84 next month, about the time she becomes a great grandma.
She read her book for the gentry of San Miguel about generation
Borrowing a wheelchair for the occasion.
Roots and Seeds, it's called. Tales from a Farmer's Daughter.
You can buy it from Pudding House Press,
more or less.

Photograph by Donna Ferrato, 2006

moonshine

The little boy standing with his big sister grew up to be a pillar of his southern community, a deacon of the church and a model of rectitude.
    Nobody knew he was a secret drinker.
    And then, in the fullness of old age, his wife died. He was failing too, and found it hard to get around. His big sister was gone and couldn't take care of him any more, so her daughter took over.
    She thought it was odd that her uncle always smelled of vanilla extract. His wife had been a baker, and there was a lot of it around the house. Until there wasn't any more. By this time he was no longer mobile, and the niece hired a nurse.
    This woman was savvy. When her trucker husband was away, she made her own alarm system by wiring the front doorknob to an electrical outlet. And as she noticed the old man's increasing distress, she figured it out. She asked where he'd been obtaining his liquor on the sly, and he told her where to get the best moonshine in the county. With the niece's agreement, she measured him out a little tot every day. The old man died happy.
    And his niece still has the rest of the last bottle. It smells pretty good, but I never did taste it.

N.B. I heard this story a while ago, so if CJH reads this, please correct!

so not lake of the ozarks

 Now that it doesn't rain inside and you can't fall downstairs, I posted the Goose for rent on craigslist. See album of pix at right under The Goose.
The ad is addressed to cityfolk from St. Louis and Kansas City. Probably should have posted in Memphis, too, as it's just as close to that airport as St. Louis—in case any of y'all on the East or West Coasts feel like a getaway.
If anyone rented for a week at $250, that would be five years of property taxes. I am not, however, holding my breath.

summer food

the hired man

"I don't know what to do," the farmwife  said. "He never shows up when he's supposed to." There is a lot of work on the farm—horses, cows, fencing, haying—and then there are all the houses she rents out. They are a lot of work too. Especially the one she rents to the hired man and his family; he is several months behind in rent, and is supposed to be working it off. But he doesn't show up. The farmwife's kitchen, which he is meant to be renovating, looks like a demolition crew blasted through.
      "What did he say was the reason today?" I asked.
      "You will not believe this," she said. "He said he had to go to his appointment  with a psychiatrist. For depression."
      "What's the problem?"
      "He says," she wailed, "the reason he's depressed is because he owes me money!"

NB This photo does not picture the hired man. It is meant to be  evocative.

house tour

Since every- thing is so very, very clean, thanks to the pooter pigeon, I thought I might immortalize it. Also, they like you to do this for insurance records, and I never seem to pull it off.

There is nothing valuable here other than books and art. I guess I should do a video of that stuff. Everything else was given to me or found on the street. How I am fortunate! No one will come to steal my TV.

summertime

It's summer, and the water is finally warm on Block Island—and now it's time to go back to school.
      I have promised some good stories from my summer vacation. They are coming up, but not today. Today is Cleaning Day, with the gallant Elma imminently coming to the rescue. Manana, surf fans.

note to self

Something isn't right, I thought as I came into the apartment yesterday. And then I found it: a trail of bird shit and feathers from window to window, over silver- ware, stove and sink, teapot, couches, rugs and floors. The spoor led into my bedroom, up to the ceiling fan, to the hard-sought copy of Granny's Wonderful Chair, over my bed and to the window.
And there it was, expiring behind my bed. A fledgling pigeon, little pink and gray dove.
I picked it up with a towel and set it on the window sill. I took it some water. It peered over the edge. And then it flew away.

laundry deliveryman

I did not do my laundry yesterday, so I reckon I'll wend my way back to NYC this morn, hoping that construction will magically have vanished on the Merritt Parkway and praying for a parking space for The Monolith. I mean the Behemoth.
Later. Gotta go pack!

beach dog

new digs

Took this pic from the ferry yesterday. Actually, I'm in the far right building top right dormer. Nice view! As for turnover, the building to the left had all linens scrambled up, and apparently about a million teenagers sleeping there, some of whom amused themselves by throwing my Chinese cleaver at the back barn door/shower surround. Also the DSL power supply had crumbled. Either it is working again or the kids staying there now got the new one installed. The house to the far left has a funny smell coming out of the hot water exhaust. Going to check that out this morning, go the the dump to take the outdoor chairs that s'ed the b, as my Brother Chris would say, and just generally have a stellar Block Island morning. The weather is--mwahh!!

my bed tonight

nothing like a rental car

Wanna drive fast and reckless? Put 4,000 miles on the odometer? Haul loads of gravel?
A rental car is the way to go. No fuss. No muss. No wear and tear. No tearing out your hair. Anyone else need shit hauled from Point A to Point B? Just two more weeks! Sign up for your automobile abuse now!

name that dog!

A picture I rather liked from my voyaging. I am now in Woonsocket, with a different dog.

i heart my niece

And I'm a headin' north.

no you can't touch my stomach!

Image by Christopher Garrison of
Christopher Garrison Photography
aka the psycho preggo's long suffering but not-yet-murdered husband.

the road home

Hippies are always welcome here, too. But I'm not writing any more here because I have to write something else.

mae bucknor: in memorium

A month or two ago, I felt a sudden, strong pang of missing Mae and Leonard, the couple who cared for the house my father once owned in Jamaica. I knew they were getting older, and I missed them. (There is independent verification of that, as I mentioned it to several people.) It turns out that at about that time, Mae suffered a stroke. Last Sunday, she died.
Mae glided through Castle Gorden, Jamaica, between her house and ours, like a ship under full sail. She did battle with the vegetable vendors at the market in Port Maria and commanded her flotilla of family absolutely. She also commanded us, though so subtly that we hardly suspected. Two households now feel the loss of her steady hand at the helm.
OK, enough with the maritime metaphors.
She could laugh. This is a great boon, and her laugh was wonderful to hear. She could yell—never at us and we could never understand what she was saying to Leonard. She could cook, and she liked it. And when a person cooks who likes to cook—oh my! I loved her ackee and salt fish, kalilu, chocho, plantain, rice and peas. I cook bluefish the way she cooked fish and first used curry under her aegis. I would never have ever eaten goat but for her curried goat specialty. I sat on the counter and watched her cook and listened to her stories.
Mae taught me about Jamaica. She was my interpreter—linguistically, socially and culturally. Without her I would have been a tourist terrified of the street hawkers in Ocho Rios. Under her instruction, I came to love the people of her neighborhood and her country. I am deeply sorry that now I will never be able to share mine with her.
Two families, hers and ours, became one family, now bereft.

Pictures from Jan Jenner's diary of the last time we visited Jamaica—maybe in 2000?
link to pictures of Dowling House in Jamaica

wtf's in the truck?

Is this a truck or a traveling greenhouse/ Chinese antique store?
I forgot to say when I pulled into the motel last night, the young female clerk and I had a slight mis- understanding.
Me: And can I pull my truck up to the door?
She (displaying map): Well, there's a spot you can park over here.
Me: I thought you said I could pull up to the door.
She: Well how big is your truck?
Me (realizing she was envisioning a tractor trailer): No no! It's just a pickup!

me tube

Now at the Best Western in Winchester, Va. Didn't even ask the price, but now that I see the snazzy cotton damask sheets, I'm starting to worry. . .
PS I have lots of great posts coming up but am too exhausted to write them.

lake lore

In the land of Kawliga, we went on down to supper at the store where the wooden totem pole immortalized by local boy Hank Williams once resided. Now it's a rather swank lakeside restaurant. Poor old Kawliga, never got a kiss. Poor old Kawliga, don't know what he missed. Is is any wonder, that his face is red, poor old Kawliga wooden head.
I am writing this at the fine home of Carol and Larry. En route home to Nueva York tomorrow.

hosts with the mosts

Southern hospitality appears to include delicious food (including okra and field peas and ribs) and many many floating objects, including boats (pontoon, speed, small craft) and more tubes than the former B & C Tube Emporium.