Up and Back to the Lake
The drive north to Lutsen and back is relatively easy in early May. Road construction already begun, but hardly any traffic on the road. Still I had plenty of time to listen to two short books on disk. Driving up … Continued
Dragonflies and Puffed Rice
Scott King, poet/publisher of Red Dragonfly Press housed at the Anderson Center in Red Wing, writes to offer appreciation of the recent blog featuring his poem, and the addition of two corrections: the Greek poet who inspired him (and may … Continued
Julia and the Gypsies
Florence’s Protestant (or English) Cemetery used to sit outside the city walls–unsanctified ground. I like to think it was created out of an ancient kitchen midden, which might explain its peculiar shape–low at the entrance and rising at one end … Continued
The Third Eye
By third grade I couldn’t see the chalkboard. My mother took my sister and me on the Charleston city bus from The Old Citadel to the oculist’s office on Rutledge Avenue. Eyesight, insight, hindsight: almost always my preferred sense. As … Continued
The Former House
How deeply, indelibly does a house, a window-view, a room’s configuration sink into us? For the last week, I’ve been caring for Sick Daughter Numero Uno, numero only. Too weak and bleery-eyed to drive, she asked me to accompany her … Continued
Piano Keys
Before I could type, I learned the piano keyboard. It was Charleston, South Carolina, and the white keys were almost always a little sticky with humidity. A red John Schirmer book, “Little Fingers That Play,” opened on the music rack … Continued
And What Month Is April?
Not the cruelest, despite T.S. Eliot’s “April is the cruelest…,” though there’s plenty of breeding out of the deadland. Nor is it necessarily dreaded tax time since for us at least, we’re almost always so afraid of not sending enough … Continued
Museum of Memories
George Segal created a room (displayed in the Weisman Art Museum, University of Minnesota) honoring his parents: floor-length living room lamp, overstuffed chair and sofa, cathedral radio, and life-size statues of his parents. In my museum of memories stands a … Continued
Down and Out in Minnesota
George Orwell’s Down and Out in Paris and London (1933), describes his seasons washing dishes as a plongeur in an immense Parisian hotel, where the kitchen and scullery are sunk into the depths like Satan’s den, and the floors above … Continued
When We Dead Awaken
Resistance, that powerful guard of the status quo, of the loved prejudice and favored ignorance, stands guard like an upside down angel over our writing. I’m watching an osprey hover over the surface of a lagoon between the coast of … Continued