Kirmizi_ada

Did medieval mistress travelers always get to see that crocus-covered fountain, that empty chapel, that warm clearing—or did they just know these to be inevitably near at hand?

On the way back from Pittsburgh to Berlin, I got to see my lovely mom and dad—and my brother, sister, niece, nephew, and grandma—who, at 96, is living at the same assisted-living place as my dad, running the table at all-over bingo.

The picture here is from our walk out on a pier at Fort Tabor, one of those modest peninsulas that make up the Massachusetts South Coast between Martha’s Vineyard and Newport Island. On the way back through New Bedford, Mom and I sang songs like “Michael, row your boat ashore” and “This land is your land” in her powder-yellow VW convertible.

Back in Schöneberg now, I tune in to Cape and Islands Radio for my morning (there), evening (here) news. I hear weather reports from Block Island, soccer match results from Dennis-Yarmouth High School, controversies about the over-achieving town-clock in North Truro.

Is this a heresy: to settle back into the loved contours of a place—with all the will of your body—when you’re several thousand miles away from it?

COMING SOON: I teach Fifty Cent.