Sunday, July 03, 2011
I've collected a number of small well-made boxes, mostly wooden, from my travels over the years. Some of them serve practical purposes. Others I just keep around on window sills, shelves, or dressers. This month, though, my preoccupation is with cardboard boxes, specifically boxes that we can pack in for our move. Moving companies sell overpriced boxes in several sizes, while Lowe's and other high-volume stores carry more reasonably priced moving containers. But liquor stores are the best source of free, sturdy packing boxes. I especially like liquor crates because they're just the right size for books. Our moving company estimates that we'll have 94 boxes of books, and we're well on our way to that number. The shelves in my study are now lined with boxes rather than books, and filled containers are stacked in various locations around the house. I find that Smirnoff vodka and cranberry boxes are ideal. The original contents wouldn't be of much interest to me, but the boxes are perfect. When I'm driving around I keep my eyes open for discarded boxes that I can use--such as the large toilet crate that was left beside the road down the street; that one will be perfect for large, lighter items that need ample padding, such as mirrors or lamps.
What makes a best seller? Ruth Franklin in Bookforum explains.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
It's been just over a year since I last posted to this blog. The death of J.D. Salinger still resonates, but it is admittedly old news. I'll remedy this long-term neglect with a photo and an update. Herewith, a shot of our newly renovated living room. No, actually we plan to move within a month, and the ph0to shows part of the chaos that has ensued since we got a contract on our house and an agreement to close the deal sometime after July 15, no doubt before the 1st of August. We'll move into the house where I grew up in Auburn, AL. My sister will be vacating the house just before we arrive accompanied by an Allied van. Janne and I have both recently retired, a new life break that gives us this sudden mobility.
“When I became a writer my desk became home; there was no need for another. Every story is a foreign territory, which, in the process of writing, is to my work, to my characters, and in order to create new ones I leave the old ones behind. My prents’ refusal to let go or to belong fully to either place is at the heart of what I, in a less literal way, try to accomplish in writing. Born of my inability to belong, it is my refusal to let go.”
Jhumpa Lahiri, “Trading Stories,” The New Yorker, 06/13 and 20/11, 83.
“When I got off in Florence
Vladimir Nabokov, letter to his wife (Oct. 2-3, 1942) about a trip to do a lecture at Coker College in Hartsville, SC., The New Yorker, 06/13 and 20/11, 100.
British artist David Hockney does a drawing on his iPad every day, often flowers or interiors. This week's New Yorker features one of them as the cover art. They are impressive. An example: