Eleanor Roosevelt slept here

It nags at me, as it does other bloggers, and I've seen a hundred blog posts about it, so I can scarcely hope to add something new to the assessment of what happens when you can't think of anything to write about. There are so many brilliant posters out there competing for readership, it humbles and daunts me.

So I'll free-associate and just talk about what I've been up to. I'm preparing to head back to New Jersey for a few weeks to oversee the contractors finishing up the cottage. I'll be doing business in New York while I'm out there, and will spend some time in Philly. I'm dreading the drive, it's more than 1000 miles, but driving long distances seems to be my lot these days.

We're settling in to Carbondale nicely. Some friends refer to it as "Car-bahn-do-lay" which adds an exotic sound to the otherwise pedestrian name of the place. It's such a manageable small town, with a smattering of student-priced ethnic restaurants. And it's really quiet. You don't hear traffic buzz like you do in towns near Interstate highways, and I like that. At night you hear trains frequently—they come right through the town square—and their whistles remind me of jazz notes on big horns. Hearing them takes me back to when I was a child and the woeful sounds connected me to a bigger world.

There's rolling countryside to the south that in some places feels like Tuscany (minus the villas.) We've spent more than one pleasant Sunday afternoon at the Blue Sky winery on their patio drinking quite decent red wine while listening to blues musicians. We went to the SIU auditorium to hear Garrison Keillor. His humor and humility were delightful and every syllable of his rich voice resonated. I had a feeling for what it might have been like to watch Mark Twain when he gave his lectures. He might even have stopped in Car-bahn-do-lay. Eleanor Roosevelt did once.