Author Archives: polloplayer

About polloplayer

Empty nester searching for meaning of life through the occasional chicken epiphany.

Her House of Mirth.

We have a thing for author pilgrimages. We tromped to Asheville, N.C. to visit Thomas Wolfe’s home (so central to his masterpiece Look Homeward, Angel); to Key West to visit Ernest Hemingway’s home and his six-toed cats (we also followed … Continue reading

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Living the Gilded Age Dream.

Those robber baron millionaires of the late nineteenth century left plenty of evidence of their beautiful excesses – there are the “cottages” at Newport, R.I., the Vanderbilt “Biltmore” monstrosity in Asheville, N.C., and any number of Manhattan mansions long since … Continue reading

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A Thoreau-ly lovely afternoon.

When I planned our trip, I pictured that Sunday stretching out endlessly before us. Surely we would take in every historical and natural amazement between Boston and our destination in the Berkshires. But somehow we had frittered away the morning…hey, … Continue reading

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A Revolutionary Moment.

Perhaps we felt so immersed in how historic a city Boston is that we forgot to actually go in search of the history. We were on the tourist trail, on the art trail, on the retail trail and I, for … Continue reading

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Pretty as a Picture: the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum

Two days was not enough time to do even Boston proper properly. But we did check one highlight off my list, the Venetian-inspired villa that wealthy collector Isabella Stewart Gardner built as her home in 1899-1901 and left to posterity … Continue reading

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Boston, by land and by sea.

Those Boston Brahmins must have been ready to clutch their pearls when the likes of the CE and I blew in from California. Luckily, oh so luckily, two dear – and much more refined – friends happened to be visiting … Continue reading

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We’re still fall-ing.

Busy trying to catch all the fall color we can – more next week!

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A change of scenery – and seasons.

I don’t know about you, but we’ve had a bit of a hard time revving up the travel engines after those two years of house arrest. We made a few tentative beginnings by returning to favorite destinations, but no forward … Continue reading

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It began in August. Raining acorns. Hundreds of them a day. I was briefly hopeful, having a vague memory that when the oaks drop their acorns early, it signals a harsh winter. I’m all for it raining acorns if that … Continue reading

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Well. I should have known. The chicken yard is an eerily reasonable facsimile of real life, a messy microcosm of worst selves laid bare for all to see. There we were, peaceable kingdom and all, enjoying the last thin rays … Continue reading

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