Archive for December, 2009

Wish I were in Detroit Tonight

to see my cousin Tommy’s band, Goober and the Peas reunite for one show. I first saw them in the early 90’s while at the best wedding I’ve ever attended. Their dark twisty humor struck a chord with me and I’ve never seen another band like them since.



For a moment she rediscovered the purpose of her life. She was here on earth to grasp the meaning of its wild enchantment and to call each thing by its right name, or, if this were not within her power, to give birth out of love for life to successors who would do it in her place.

Boris Pasternak


FOUND magazine and its website appeals to the voyeur in me. If God exists, he’s obviously a voyeur. And how would it feel to be  the ultimate voyeur? Something about finding things reminds me just a touch of how that would feel. I once found a broken bright blue crayon in a little pool of water on a sidewalk in Hartford. And I felt like bawling. It was though a fragment of the sky had fallen in this troubled, turbulent city. I like this piece I found on…FOUND.

I have Betsy to thank for this one…Ayumihorie. Purty. Charming. I don’t look enough at ceramics.

i like this

the shape of secrets.

oh my!

Regretsy. I mean, this is just creepy. And click this one. If you dare.


It’s a snow day here today, and the kiddo is home with me. I think I root for snow days even more than she does. I was thinking of the landscapes in which I’ve lived, and how they influence people. Where I am now is the closest in landscape and climate to home than anywhere else I’ve lived. Except the people are nicer here, I think.

If I had to choose the defining characteristic of the land of my childhood, I’d cite the Black River off the top of my head. But I’d be wrong. I’m just fascinated with it. It is indeed a dark river, with a touch of menace to it. Its mysterious undercurrents have caused drownings. I think it’s a lousy fishing spot, but my brother Will and I, when we were young and naive, thought living down by the river, surviving off of the land, to be preferable to living in our big grey house. We’d stash away food and gear, make plans, and read survival manuals to prepare. Our mother would find our stash and take it away. We’d just find another spot. But we never made the move. I don’t know how we thought we’d get away with something like that, anyway. But I’ve always had a deep desire to live in a very basic way, surrounded by the landscape I love, self reliantly.

Our grandfather often took us to the river in the spring, where we’d stalk the great Northern Pike. We were obsessed with that fish, only because of its size and strength. I don’t even eat fish. I never caught a pike. I’ve only caught one fish in my entire life; a rainbow trout on my first try. Will was crushed. He hadn’t at the time, even caught one fish. I didn’t know what to do with it, but I enjoyed the fight. Fishing is purely sport for me. Will eventually did catch a pike, but I don’t think it was in that river….might have been the St. Lawrence. He’s a good fisherman, and luckily for me, kind. He baited all of my hooks.

The defining characteristic of the north country in NY is of course, the snowbelt. Massive amounts of snow. Arctic temperatures. My family is from New England, originally, and moved to Tug Hill when they came to New York. The summer was beautiful. Mild. Great scenery. It was just the sort of place that my grandfather, a naturalist and artist, loved. Luckily, they took heed of the warnings of harsh, deadly winters and moved just in time, before they either  starved or froze to death. The snow and its unpredictable nature is why I only visit New York during the window of late spring and summer. I don’t like to drive, and my vision is bad enough without whiteouts. But I still love the landscapes of my childhood.

In Connecticut, it’s all about ice. It’s even more powerful and damaging than snow, which dumps itself and is simply shifted around. The ice slicks up the roads, and even worse, attaches itself to trees, where it weights down vulnerable limbs and takes down power lines when they fall. When I was about eight months pregnant with the kiddo, I spent a week without power, bundled in blankets by a fire place. Everyone else was concerned, but it felt so peaceful. I think there’s just something about being pregnant that makes everyone around you treat you like a sacred cow. Or something.

Today, I’m just grateful that I’m warm inside, beside a beautiful Christmas tree with my kiddo. Take care and stay warm, peeps.

on foodgawker…

This confection looks seriously yummy! And it’s French!

December 2009
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