far too much writing, far too many photos

runswithscissors


Saturday, September 27, 2003

Leaves have been flying through the air here these last two or three days -- sun and clouds trading off unpredictably, a stiff, spirited breeze blowing, sweeping shards of orange and yellow off trees in rustling waves of motion. Trees once reluctant to turn are now showing color, others already well along now show bare branches.

Classic New England autumn stuff.





Over the last three or four days, birds from more northerly locales have been making pit stops here on the way south. Out doing some work off the far end of the house about three afternoons back, I heard a robin's call, something that's been absent in these parts since mid-August. The next morning robins were everywhere, spread out across the expanses of grass around the house, hunting for breakfast. Fueling up for the next leg of the ride. Other birds have been around, too, warblers and what looked like barn swallows. All of a hardier breed than the buggers that summer here.

And monarch butterflies have been passing through, wandering by in the afternoons, alighting on the red hawkweed blossoms that have sprouted up these last weeks in a final, late-warm-season binge.

Beautiful, all of it, a kind of affecting beauty that goes far beyond the visuals that draw crowds of leaf-peepers to Vermont at this time of year like camera-wielding iron filings to a mountainous, multi-colored magnet. (Yes, I know, it's a weak, garish metaphor. I know. And I don't care.)


Meanwhile, I managed to find my way into a local poker game (yesterday evening, in fact), something I haven't been a part of for a while -- three, close to four years. There was a period there when that kind of thing was a regular feature of my life. (I said something at last night's game about a three or so year period, but it went on far longer than that in long, sometimes fitful spells, with a couple of different groups; far longer still if evenings spent playing hearts with some cohorts are tossed into the mix.) Up until my life shifted itself up here from Cambridge, Mass., then across the Atlantic.

They were always competitive affairs, those games, but the point was a good time, get-togethers with conversation, laughter, all that, not raking in megabucks or grinding one's opponents into the dust. Meaning that while there may have been the occasional cigar ignited or beer bottle tipped up, the events were low-stakes -- nickels, dimes, quarters rather than dollar-and-upward demo derbies.

There is a high-stakes game of many years standing up here, in a neighboring town, one with which David Mamet has been associated, one with an aroma of testosterone. The game I weaseled my way into last night was a coed deal, all folks I'd never met before apart from the person who provided me entrée (the very nice person who provided me entrée, an attractive, intelligent woman who's recently become part of the weekly Spanish-speaking get-together I'm part of when I'm on this side of the Atlantic).

[more to come]

rws 6:18 PM [+]

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BLATHERINGS

August 2001
September 2001
October 2001
November 2001
December 2001
January 2002
February 2002
March 2002
April 2002
May 2002
June 2002
July 2002
August 2002
September 2002
October 2002
November 2002
December 2002
January 2003
February 2003
March 2003
April 2003
May 2003
June 2003
July 2003
August 2003
September 2003
October 2003
November 2003
December 2003
January 2004
February 2004
March 2004
April 2004
May 2004
June 2004
July 2004
August 2004
September 2004
October 2004
November 2004
December 2004
January 2005
February 2005
March 2005
April 2005
May 2005
June 2005
July 2005
August 2005
September 2005
October 2005
November 2005
December 2005
January 2006
February 2006
March 2006
April 2006
May 2006
June 2006
July 2006
August 2006
September 2006
October 2006
November 2006
December 2006
January 2007
February 2007
March 2007
April 2007
May 2007
June 2007
July 2007
August 2007
September 2007
October 2007
November 2007
December 2007
January 2008
February 2008
March 2008
April 2008
May 2008
June 2008
July 2008

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


MORE FOCUSED BLATHERINGS

Personal History



Travels:
London '01
Pamplona
Italy '03
U.K. '03
Sevilla
Casablanca
Stoke-on-Trent
Barcelona
Québec/Ottawa
Boston/Lisbon/Madrid
Italy '04
Montréal
La Sierra

Events:
Madrid -- arrival
9/11
Emergency Room I
Holidays 2001
Holidays 2002
Holidays 2003
Holidays 2004
Holidays 2005
A neighbor's passing
Madrid -- March 11 bombings
  and aftermath
Emergency Room II
Israeli friend/Madrid Marathon
Madrid -- Royal Wedding
The DELE exam

Excerpts from GONE, a novel:
Chapter 1 (complete)
Chapter 6 (complete)
Chapter 8 (excerpt)
Chapter 9 (excerpt)
Chapter 9 (excerpt)

Screenplay excerpt:
BURBANK SHRUGGED

Short stories:
Murphy's Wife
Another Autumn
Queja de Una Hermanastra
  Muy Conocida

.  .  .  .  .  .  .  .


OTHER SOURCES OF WHOLESOME ENTERTAINMENT

People/Weblogs:
dooce
foxvox
fudge it
fear not
rebekka
bookslut
802online
idle words
madhaiku
wockerjabby
grow-a-brain
digital camel
letting me be
kung fu grippe
franklin avenue
fanatical apathy
baghdad burning
the happy booker
mimi smartypants
between the miles
just a hippie gypsy
tomato can brushes
playing with my food
sugar mountain farm

Good Clean Fun:
gizmodo
futurismic
postsecret
dave barry
human clock
mcsweeney's
spaceweather
book-a-minute
internet archive
self-portrait day
my cat hates you
out of context quotes
surrealist compliment
  generator
strindberg and helium

Makin' Musical Whoopee:
muxtape
soma fm
pandora
last fm

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ABOUT RWS/CONTACT





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runswithscissors would like to thank everyone who's ever lived for everything they've ever done.



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