From the Castle Cary train station, we “did a shop” in Street (that’s a town.) It seems to me that we “did a shop” almost every other day. And the washing machine was going 24/7—more about that later. On that first day, Sue took me around Clark’s Village, an outlet mall built on the site  Read the Rest…

When I told people I was spending Christmas with my cousins in an English village, I heard a fair amount of “that sounds magical.” I don’t think my cousins think of themselves as magical even if they do live in a place with things like fairy soap, fairy lights and fairy cakes        Read the Rest…

I yelled at the cat. That’s when I knew things had gone too far. It started when I began practicing to sing “Fill the World with Love,” a song from the musical Goodbye Mr. Chips (by Leslie Bricusse). I always get a little choked up when I sing it so I was practicing singing through  Read the Rest…

I used to call “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” the alcoholic’s Christmas carol because of the line about “next year all our troubles will be out of sight.” Pure denial, fantastical thinking. Wasn’t that mean of me? It’s a perfect song for this year and I regret my former attitude.  If you’re not busy  Read the Rest…

I’ve been trying to get back to writing for six months. Nothing propels me so much as the need to confess a scorching embarrassment or to shapeshift something painful into something funny. So here goes. My story starts about a month ago when I took my octogenarian friend Kay to what I call the Green  Read the Rest…

Entering our third month of Sheltering-in-Place here in Seattle, I locate myself in the week by when I last showered: I showered today, I showered yesterday, I can’t remember when I showered or that’s really a funky smell. My hair has entered a new length division where it now looks reasonably good. I love hearing  Read the Rest…

Welcome to Port Wenn! If you are a fan of the series Doc Martin, you’ll appreciate the reference. If you aren’t, read on. We went other places, too. The day began at the cottage in Morvah with the usual tea and breakfast and me asking Sue and Wendy what they remembered from the day before  Read the Rest…

Monday morning–my first sugarless day– I was awakened by the sound of birds singing and cows moo-ing: Since I was still the only one up, I went round the cottage filming the window fixtures and talking to myself: When I finished this catalog of domestic quotidian, I took off my glasses to polish a lens  Read the Rest…

Corryvrecken is the name of a famously fierce whirlpool off the coast of Jura, the island north of Islay in the Hebrides. George Orwell and his small son were lucky to escape it drenched, but with their lives. I submit that there’s another corryvrecken on Islay and her name is Rachel.  She was my guide  Read the Rest…

I got my naturalization papers last week. I made it past the health screening in spite of having a concussion.  After reading that you could be forgiven for thinking I still had one. Anyway, here’s what happened: On Thursday in an accidental maneuver too complicated and boring to describe, I knocked heads with my dear  Read the Rest…