Neglect, Thy Name is Howdy

This is a brief post aimed especially at The Faithful Ones — and You know who You are — who tune in to this site to see if Mr. Jay has anything to Say. (He Hasn’t. Not since February 21. Ouch. Chastened, which, English being the odd language that it is, has little to do with chastity. For whatever that’s worth. And if I continue with this tangled paranthesis, you may never wish to dial Howden again. So I’ll stop. Real soon.)

It’s been dry. I’ve been busy. Life has happened. Blah blah blah. But I am going to get back in the cyber saddle over the next few days. I actually have some fresh (ish) writing to post, mainly stuff from the weekly column I spastically thrash together for my hometown weekly, The Grand River Sachem. (That’s its real name.) It’s all over the map, but some of it might be worth looking at again, especially since Son the Eldest just found two fairly senseless statements in a recent meditation on Barack Obama and the meaning of American life.

So look down, and with any luck, you’ll see some bits with “March” in the dateline that weren’t there before. They’ll be a little out-of-date, but they still pass the smell test for me.

And It Wasn’t Even the Grand River Sachem

I tried to be cool about it, then changed my mind. My review of McCourt’s Teacher Man made the mighty Globe today! Huzzah and hurray! I was supposed to be shopping for groceries in that Haliburton store, but why pretend? Straight to the newspaper rack I went, but I resisted the urge to buy a dozen. It was as good as I remembered it: no horrible apprehensions of clanging phrases or throbbing clichés that only show up in ink. Martin Levin, the Books editor, took it just as it was, although his push to expand one section was a good one. So how long will it take me to get my own book reviewed there? This decade would be nice…

Haliburton is gorgeous. The snow is coming again. I always love this mom-in-law getaway, especially at Christmas. When I was teaching, it was an utter collapse zone, a sweet decompression that was never quite long enough. Nowhere to go, nothing to be, and nobody knows my number.  But tomorrow, there will be SnowBorgs.