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: