BLOG

I hear the tiler on the second floor, Miguel from Colombia, doing his thing while his non-speaking apprentice cuts through tile on the outside lawn with a shrieker machine, annoying, I am sure, to the unknown neighbors. The neighbor to our left is a psychiatrist and his wife, a nurse; he works at a local university. He rents. As I type on these annoying chiclets, I feel fatigue. There is great news about my son which I’ll save for a better moment — he went out and hired a cast, got talented people about him including an Indie moviemaker and made…

I am writing this lament lying on a mattress 6 inches off the floor. I am typing on Jane’s laptop with its chiclet keys which suck. The Gates gadjet rests on a Casablanca ceiling fan box, the fan itself, recently installed, is blowing air about my buttocks. Things have not gone well. The paint job was poorly done and confrontation is around the corner; the newly laid carpeting was defective and has to be removed at no cost to us except we had to invest more to get better. Because of these delays, our furniture lies crated in our garage.…

Jane is in a giddy or happy mood today as she is finishing off packing last minute items before we move next week. We will load her van with the necessaries of a vital trip — cpu, monitor, printer, essential files, cameras, lighting fixtures taken down only to be put up again, the GPS, “Trixie,” my meds and a sling brief case in which resides my next book in rough draft, “Working Through the Holocaust.” We don’t have much furniture but only critical pieces and art work and boxes of Jane’s books, for I am beginning to realize more and…