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Staying Put

Staying Put

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In The Merry Recluse, the late Caroline Knapp writes about finding home. It wasn’t a grand “ah-hah” moment, she says. “I figured Boston would be an interim city, a place to set down my bags until I moved on to some bigger, more exotic locale … I figured I’d be transient, my sense of place fluid, my attachments focused on people and jobs rather than on location. And then, not long ago, I looked up one day and thought: Oh, my God. I have a life here. I’m not moving. I’m home.”

Her point is that many of us don’t choose our place; our place chooses us. It’s not so much a decision as a non-decision. A not-moving rather than a staying put.

What helped Knapp stay put is the Charles River, “one of the longest, best stretches of flat water for rowing anywhere in the U.S.” and where Knapp would scull four or five times a week.

If we stay here (and it’s always “if”), it will be because of the hollow tree along Little Difficult Run, the one Copper always has to stick his nose in on the days he’s lucky enough to get a walk. It will be because of the mossy hill and the view of treetops I can see from there. It will be because of this one ancient knobby tree stump I always look for because more often than not it trips me up. 

It will be the little things that keep us here.

Back to Barriers

Back to Barriers

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I write today, as I often do, with Copper curled beside me. Like many dogs, he likes to lie with his back against a barrier. The barrier might be a couch cushion, a bookcase, a cool metal filing cabinet or, in this case, my lap.

There is probably an entire literature on canine sleeping habits, the desire for warmth and closeness bred in pack animals. But from where I sit, it’s simple: I have his back. There is something solid behind him. He will not drop off into the void.

In this context, then, having one’s back against the wall does not mean a lack of choices, a last stand. It means backing, support and protection.

I think about my family, house and neighborhood — the bulwarks I’ve built, the people and places that stand behind me; the people and places I stand behind, too. They are my guard rails, my talisman, my way to fill the void.

Staying Put

Staying Put

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I haven’t left the house by car in more than a week. My only forays have been on foot. This has not been a bad thing. I’ve made soup, baked rolls, shoveled snow, read books, talked on the phone, hauled wood, watched movies, fed the birds and consumed an entire bottle of champagne (which is a lot for me). Most importantly, I’ve started this blog, which I might never have done had I not been handed this windfall of time.

Staying put has made me think about restlessness, what drives us to be out and on the go. It’s often a sense that something more important is happening elsewhere. When I lived in New York, I felt like there was a little battery inside me that never wore down. I had to be out walking, meeting friends for dinner or drinks, running down the broad streets of Tribeca (sadly, one of my running destinations was the World Trade Center). God, I loved New York, but if I had stayed there I think I would have burnt out at an early age.

This is not a vote of confidence in the suburbs, by the way. But it is a paen to staying put. I wouldn’t want to live behind a wall of white, but a few days here has slowed us down, has showed us what’s essential.