Tag Archives: travel

Peace and distance

On the day Bowie died, I drove from Stratford to a small town where I met Tish Farrell, a blogger friend. She made lunch and we talked about writing and traveling, and then I said goodbye and drove back down … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , | 13 Comments

November 22, 2018 (Thanksgiving). I went back in time to the chauffeur’s flat, that place we stayed in a remote corner of Scotland one Thanksgiving, unlike any other. Near some small, port town on the coast by the ferries over … Continue reading

Posted in Memoir, prose, writing | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , | 23 Comments

Walking down the unlit hallway of life

Outside in the mid-afternoon there was just the sound of birds and kids and cars going by. It was too hot for anything, everyone hanging onto the edges by the shade. I’d gotten up when the church bells struck six … Continue reading

Posted in death, Memoir, travel | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | 24 Comments

In the Alps with Eberhard | Size Really Does Matter

We went back to the Austrian Alps and it was the same as it was last time, ending our hike on an old chair lift, coming down the valley with the sound of cowbells and accordion music drifting up, back … Continue reading

Posted in hiking, humor, Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , | 31 Comments

It is the right light to be critical

On Tuesday the moon was still up when I walked to the lake in the morning. I was in the slot, now. Like being at the airport on one of those skywalks when you know you’re about to go time … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir, travel, writing | Tagged , , , , , | 15 Comments

No soft shoulders

On my walk to the lake it was definitely May, with a thin film of fog and many colors beneath. The pink cherry blossom blooms thrown down like confetti — the robins and rabbits, all the sights and sounds of … Continue reading

Posted in musings, prose | Tagged , , , , , | 13 Comments

Love and work (and when it doesn’t work out)

Crossing into April, Dawn and I were getting ready to be married. But the weather had been so nice every weekend for three weekends straight, we worried our luck wouldn’t hold out. All of us met at a lodge in … Continue reading

Posted in identity, Memoir | Tagged , , , , , , , | 18 Comments