Author: Kana Smith

  • On “Inheriting” a Cat

    Grandpa has never been a cat person. He has been a serial monogomist with a succession of beloved dogs, including Buttons the beagle, whose oil portrait still hangs in his living room. (My mother notes that he has no painting of herself and her brothers, so we know how Grandpa’s dogs have rated in his…

  • Engine idling in the middle of the desert, we contemplate the pockmarked metal sign in front of us. Military Range, it declares, adding the instruction that civilian vehicles are to keep to the main road. Which leaves us with a question–what is the definition, out here, of a “main road”? Off to the side, a…

  • Mounted above the dash in Pat’s car, a GPS device tracks our pre-programmed driving route from San Diego to Boise, Idaho. Whenever we veer from the pre-planned course–even to top off the gas tank or to empty one of the small backseat bladders (which of course operate on a rotating schedule)–a disapproving female voice informs…

  • “Their schooling over, readers were presumably qualified to make their own additions to the books in their care.”  –H.J. Jackson, in Marginalia: Readers Writing in Books “books as pets–pet dragons, maybe, or something exotic–care & feeding of your book”  –scribbled note in my own (heavily annotated) copy of Marginalia I used to starve my books,…

  • I suppose one way to measure the popularity of a Classic is to count the number of spin-offs it’s spawned. Gauging by that measure, I’d have to say that Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice surpasses “popular” and rings in at “obsession;” a quick bookstore-search turned up more than 50 novels based on Austen’s golden oldie.…

  • Drinks got warm, but the fish stayed cold…

    We’ve been gloriously “unplugged” all week–no phone signal, and just a wireless hotspot (sometimes) by the Redfish Lodge’s front door.  The Editor giggles every time I say I’m going to “walk up to the internet” to post our blog… *** After he cleaned a Limit of fish (that’s a unit of measurement, isn’t it?) I…

  • The picture here is a shot of me napping under the trees the last time I was in Stanley–Fourth of July ’76, America’s Bicentennial. I’m told that when we get home and download our photos, I’ll have a companion piece: me with rolled-up jeans and sunglasses, blissfully asleep on this beach. It is absolutely still…