Seasons change with the scenery, weaving time on a tapestry... (part two)
Stockbridge, Massachusetts, is one of the most adorable places on earth. "Picturesque" is not only immanently applicable, but also exceedingly appropriate, as it is the town in which Norman Rockwell did many of his paintings. Many of the citizens of Stockbridge were asked to model for Norman, and some still live there today. The main street, which is the subject of one of his more famous paintings, is unchanged in every respect save that one of the buildings has changed ownership, and another is now a Yankee Candle store (not that the outside is any different.) Every year for Christmas, I understand they keep all cars off the main street, and park several old antique models in front of the

Seasons change with the scenery, weaving time on a tapestry... (part one)
I learned recently that my brothers prefer Mrs. Butterworth's syrup not only to other brands of imitation maple syrup, but even to authentic maple syrup. I attribute this to a lifetime of Sunday pancakes or French toast, for which the only two toppings available were Mrs. Butterworth's or powdered sugar. As for me, I always took the powdered sugar, so I never acquired a taste for the former. Later in my life, when I began to view powdered sugar as a mildly childish thing to put on ones breakfast, I moved directly to real maple syrup, and have never been able to go back to Mrs. Butterworth's. For some reason, it leaves an unpleasant feeling in the back of my throat similar to cough syrup. Al

My heart breaks as you take your long journey.
I have a lot of things I hope to write about in the next couple weeks, mostly about my vacation out East. But before I go into that, I want to try to write something that has been on my mind for six or seven months now. I have had a hard time trying to find out how to write it, as it has not been easy. It does involve my vacation, and is in some ways a decent place to start. It is also a very sad thing to write about, but I hope it is not depressing. I have never felt that all sad things had to be depressing, and at least for me, what I am trying to write about has been a cathartic experience. Before I begin, however, I would like to apologize to my brother John, whose day I hope I am not r

Words that tear and strain to rhyme.
Only yesterday, while struggling to express an impression I had of William Faulkner's work to my favorite oldest brother, I remarked in some frustration that "I should just blog about it, because I won't know what I think until I do."This morning, courtesy of MR, I found an article about just that.I wish I blogged more often, because it is always such a relief to me to be able to say fully what I mean; something I rarely manage in person. In conversation, I find myself grasping for the correct words. I say "blanket" when "duvet" would better suit my purposes. Or I mis