Dean at Home: The Pandemic Blog

Underwood No. 11 Tonight's soundtrack: Santana at Tanglewood, 1970 I've been waking up in the early hours again, around 4 am. I'm not sure what rouses me out of my slumber, but I lie there trying to get myself comfortable, and then decide I might as well go to the bathroom, and sometimes, like this morning, I step in a puddle of cat vomit, then alternately relieve myself and try to quench a deep thirst, and alternate that with looking at the news. I think there is a connection between the lack of a good night's sleep and shorter life expectancy, obesity, and all kinds of ills. Clearly, I do make less healthy choices like eating a breakfast sandwich and an apple plum tart before noon. And, by the end of the day, I am weary and ready for the ride home. Today, was an office day. I've been in the process of cleaning out my office, deciding what books to keep, and today, I parked at the bottom of the outside staircase and moved my Underwood typewriter out to the car. Ba

Trick or Treat?  Tonight's soundtrack: The Ginger Baker Trio with Charlie Haden and Bill Frisell, 1995 It is getting colder and people have been talking about snow on Friday. I have a tradition of not putting on the snow tires until the weekend after thanksgiving. So, whether we have snow Friday or not, I think the snow tires will stay stowed away for a few more weeks. Fall seems to have fallen fast, but I suppose it is always that way, that short window of peak color in the trees, quickly giving way to the dry browns and faded yellows that litter our lawns and make one think of ladders and gutters, wood stoves and splitting axes, and the smell of pumpkin pie and hot apple cider. Of course, right around the corner is halloween, that cornerstone of childhood. When I was a kid, it seems as if whole years revolved around or were defined by a particularly good halloween. There was the time my dad turned me into the invisible man (H.G. Wells, not Ralph Ellison) using a trench coat butto

Becoming Transparent Today's soundtrack: R. L. Burnside, 1984 The Chevy Nova was a recovered stolen car. It was from the Toyota era of Novas, so really it was a rebadged Toyota Corolla that some kids had taken for a joy ride and managed to do fly off a jump, or driven down a set of stone stairs at a park, or had tried to drift before slamming into a curb. In any case, the end result was that the frame was permanently bent slightly askew, and driving down the street the car was always at a slight angle. Like its Spanish name, the car had the nasty habit of stalling at inopportune moments and it was always unclear when and if it would start again. The Shutesbury house seems to  predate digital photography, so this picture is actually from  the Amherst house, several years  later. At the time, I lived in Shutesbury in a house my friend Ed sublet to us when he was laid off and moved back to Maryland. Ed was a phenomenal drummer, whose dad was a big band jazz drummer. Ed sold industrial