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Monthly Archives: August 2013

Cutting Wood.


The woodcutting has started in earnest, and it’s such pleasant work I have to stop my body from doing it so much I’ll get injured.  As sad as I am to say goodbye to summer, there’s just something about fall.  It’s beautiful.

Clive James, Cultural Amnesia.


Several years ago one of my college professors asked me if I was reading Clive James. (The implication was that I should be.) I told him I had never heard of him. He was shocked: James was a regular contributor to those learned periodicals that a certain class of people consider obligatory reading for intelligent […]

Singin’ in the Rain.


Last Saturday there was a party to celebrate the Denning Town Garden, the creation of a group of citizens who wanted to create the town’s first public space. After the party – which was a wonderful celebration of our little upstate community – an artist who lives next door to the town garden showed – […]

Freud and the Future of an Illusion.


A friend recently lent me a copy of Clive James’ book Cultural Amnesia – now that is a good friend – which I devoured over the course of a little over a week. The book is excellent, and what is particularly lovely about it is that it filled me with the desire to read everything […]



“No specter assails us in more varied disguises than loneliness, and one of its most impenetrable masks is called love.” – Arthur Schnitzler, quoted by Clive James. I’ve been reading James’ Cultural Amnesia, a fine book; essentially excerpts from James’ commonplace-book with essays built around them, on a general theme.  Probably for personal reasons, my […]

Wildcat Woodstacking.


Down in the upper 30s at night.  Beautiful, early autumnal weather.  Time to stack up the wood for the winter.

Into California.


It was a short drive from Vegas to the California border. We had done it – we had driven New York to California, from Pizza Box on Bleecker Street to the Giant Sequoias in five days. We ate our lunch in a diner in Barstow, right on Route 66. Barstow could have been any of […]

Veneri Pulcherrimae.


The Venus of Las Vegas, holding aloft her golden apple.  The fairest of them all indeed.

Fearlessness and Affection in Las Vegas.


Our night in St. George was our first in a bed – each night going across the country our hospitium had been a floor – and we took advantage of our opportunity, sleeping soundly and late. It was to be our last night in a bed until the other side of the Sierras. This good […]