I live in a neighbourhood of Scarborough, Maine, called Blue Point. “Neighbourhood” is probably the wrong turn; to me, that inspires thoughts of a high street with shops that you walk to, corner stores and pocket parks and three-decker houses with three families per deck. Blue Point is a village in the old English meaning of the term – a collection of houses, with a few places of business and a church, between other villages, some of which might merit the title of town or borough, or might not. Blue Point is a village, and interestingly, it’s one of the many sites of the genocide of native Americans hundreds of years ago.
Continue reading “Dead places”Finding a soul
There’s an old aphorism, variously attributed to Edmund Burke or Clemenceau or Churchill or any of a dozen others, saying that if one is either a conservative or at the very least not a socialist (or communist, or liberal, or insert era-appropriate label for the elevation of the common good over individual benefit) before the age of 25 (or 20, or 30, or whatever), then one “has no heart.” The punchline, of course, is that if one is a socialist or at the very least not a conservative (or a Republican, or reactionary, or insert era-appropriate label for the elevation of capital and the individual over the common good) after the age of 40 (or 30, or 29, or whatever), then one “has no head.”
Continue reading “Finding a soul”Wilderness or lack thereof
Yesterday was one of those annoying rainy days. Good rainy days, in my opinion, are just rainy the whole day through – maybe not pouring rain, but at least a good pestering drizzle from (ideally) before you wake up until after darkness falls. On good rainy days – and keep in mind yesterday was a Saturday – you can sleep in without feeling guilty. Even the dog doesn’t really want to go out; sure, she may need to relieve herself, but who relishes the prospect of pissing and shitting while you’re getting cold and damp in the outdoors, while your feet are sinking into a coalescing mud? No one, not even a good dog. So she’s willing to hold it in until it’s a necessity, versus her normal desire on a sunny day to get up immediately and enjoy all there is about the world, and also have a good BM while she’s at it. No, yesterday was a lousy rainy day. The dog and I got up early, had a forty minute walk and then it started a half-hearted drizzle and we made it back to the house without too much of a soaking. Then it rained for six hours – from 8am to 2pm – and then stopped. While it was raining it was a downpour, but it stopped quickly.
Continue reading “Wilderness or lack thereof”Space
Tonight was a typical night, at least for this summer. The boy and I had dinner – tonight was leftovers, he had steak, I had monkfish – but it was later than usual as he had spent the late afternoon swimming with his friend. We watched the last bit of a Pixar film and by that time it was within an hour of lights out, so he got his second hour of screen time – playing an interminable online game where one solves idiotic puzzles and logic games to get points to, in his case, build an airport – before brushing his teeth and going to bed. He gave me a big hug, told me he didn’t have any clean clothes – I reminded him he had a giant pile of clean clothes that he had forgotten to bring up to his room and put away properly – he told me okay – we hugged some more, the light went out, and I left the room. I checked again in 15 minutes and it was silent, completely silent, the way only eight year olds can be silent when sleeping. If he had been trying to fool me, there would have been sound.
Continue reading “Space”Sleep
Every night is different. Some nights, the boy goes loco after having too much cookies and cream ice cream. Some nights, the dog goes loco for no reason at all, chasing endlessly around the stairs and the back room and the front porch, chasing what, an imaginary squirrel? a ghostly deer? Some nights nothing happens at all, and the boy goes to sleep quickly after talking about the Hardy Boys, and the dog quickly relieves herself in the front lawn and hurriedly comes back inside, and I watch Hogan’s Heroes and compose myself ready to bed.