Writing

Writing

I’ve been spending a lot of my time the last three months the same way I spend my time when I am normally home – at my desk, writing. Or, to be more precise, not writing, but looking at the keyboard and the screen and thinking about vacuuming the house or getting something to eat or what emails I haven’t answered and bills I have yet to pay. And then there follows a burst of writing, and after a while I have lot of words to edit and finally my article is done or there’s another page to the book I’m working on. Writing is weird. You start with a blank page, though of course these days it’s a blank screen. At some point you have to fill it. If you don’t then you never get to write anything and when you are a writer you need to publish so you can get paid. In that sense it’s like every other job. What I tell people who ask about it is that to be successful as a writer you have to make it a job. If you wait until you “feel” like writing you will never write anything. It’s something...Read more
Art in Small Places

Art in Small Places

There is a Chinese proverb to the effect that, “when on a trek, you trip over pebbles, not over mountains.” The point is we tend to stumble or worry about small matters and miss the larger picture. Maybe it would help to turn those words in on themselves and to suggest in these very difficult times that sometimes it pays to take solace in small moments of art and beauty because the larger ones are missing – or at least not yet there. I was reminded of that the other day after spending a few hours on the yard, variously mowing and gardening. As I started putting tools back in the garage I noticed this strange, eerie juxtaposition of a rose in bloom and the face of a mask we had hung on the garage. The light and the angle were perfect. It looked like the face was tasting the rose. A perfect little moment, fleeting but for the ability of my handy iPhone to capture the moment and preserve it. I’ve now been home 105 days running now, the longest in over 30 years. No one else but my wife and I have entered the house in 14 weeks....Read more

Yogi Berra

When I was a kid growing up in Queens, New York, three-time most valuable player Yogi Berra of the New York Yankees was my sports idol. Perhaps it was the elegance of that first big league game I saw. August 1963, Yankees Stadium, a Wednesday afternoon game against the Cleveland Indians, which they lost 7-4, scoring their only runs on a pinch-hit grand slam by Johnny Blanchard (for the sake of authenticity I am not looking any of this up). I’m not sure Berra played that day, but I was smitten by the look and feel of that ballpark – the elegant façade that draped the upper deck, the greenest green lawn I had ever seen, the smell of hot dogs and the fact that our seats only cost 50 cents. The trip, made on a school bus, was our reward for a decently played Little League season and one that confirmed my love of baseball. Having followed Major League Baseball on my transistor radio and our black and white TV set, I was overwhelmed by the depth, color and sounds of the game played at a major league level. Berra looked like my father, at least in my mind,...Read more