Moving

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.

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“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 , I was immediately surprised by the heat and the sun, and the gaiety of the shadows—like what one feels upon reaching the Riviera from Paris.”

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.

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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: