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Got my money’s worth out of this pumpkin, repurposed scarecrow.
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Happy holidays, all!
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Peace, love, compassion, health, kindness . . . all the good things.
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Archive for Family
A Preller Halloween Tradition
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Behold . . .
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In the year 2025, weary of Halloween excess & inflatable lawn decorations, I brought back a family staple.
This one has, to my surprise, a surfer dude vibe. Must be the hay.
The good old scarecrow. Takes 20 minutes to put together, only because I’m slow.
I have childhood memories of the scarecrows that my father put up in front of 1720 Adelphi Road in Wantagh, New York.
In fact, here’s one from 1953 — before my time.
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And before you go . . . here’s a neighborhood favorite from some year’s back.
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HAPPY HALLOWEEN, DEAR READERS!
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Talking to the Bassist from The Vivian Girls at the Woodsist Music Festival
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I recently attended a two-day “Woodsist” music festival with my daughter Maggie at Arrowood Farms in Accord, NY. This was our second trip to Arrowood together, nearly a tradition. The first time it poured. We wore heavy yellow rain suits for two days. Despite our sunniest efforts, we felt waterlogged and weary by the end of it.
Not this year!
The weather was a gift, sunny and warm, all weekend.
On Day Two, we enjoyed a set by The Vivian Girls, an all-female rock trio. It was a lively set, full of blistering energy and good vibes. The truth is, it’s still a thrill whenever I see an all-female band. A band that rocks, that takes the stage, and owns it — and just so happens to be made up of women.
Later that day, as sometimes happens at festivals, I was wandering around and saw the band’s bassist, Katy Goodman, standing beside a male friend, presumably her husband. I’m not normally one to approach a celebrity. And if I do, I try to be respectful of that celebrity’s personal space.
But on this day, I paused and asked, “Hey, do you mind if I say something?”
They stiffened a bit, exchanged uncertain glances, but gave me the nod. It was okay if I said something. Quickly, I gathered.
And so I looked at Katy and said something along these lines:
“I watched your set earlier today with my daughter, Maggie. We both loved it. She’s twenty-four years old and has been playing guitar and singing a lot lately, just loving music in general. And I just want to say that as a father, it was so nice for me to watch her, watch you. For her to see three powerful women rocking out. Thank you for that. It means a lot, really. You’re doing good work.”
And that was that. They thanked me, a little surprised, and seemed genuinely touched.
I didn’t linger, just smiled and drifted away.
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Flowers for the living, as the Irish say.
William Preller, 1949-2025
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My brother Billy passed on July 15th, 8:10 PM, at the VA Med Center in Northport, Long Island. He was only 75 years old, but those were some hard-lived years. I can picture him with a Marlboro in one hand, an inhaler in the other, huffing & puffing to the bitter end.
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Billy was one-of-a-kind, an Irish charmer, a weekend millionaire who might be late with the rent, a benign & glorious fuckup, and a sweet & loving soul. A handsome devil, as my mother would say. He never met a job he couldn’t quit.
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Bill, seated, Neal beside him; our sister Jean in the background. The early 70s?
Eleven years older than me, I especially remember him being very gentle & patient with me when I was a little boy. I’d enter his room and marvel at his milk bottle filled with nickels, his red-and-white box of old 45s, “Whiskey Man” and “Ringo” and “Love Potion #9.” He liked science fiction books, “Stranger in a Strange Land,” “The Illustrated Man.” For a while there, he drove a Charles Chips truck, delivering pretzels & potato chips door to door. Imagine that. He worked at Bohack and Citgo gas station. Drove ridiculously cool & unreliable cars: a corvette, a mustang.
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I remember when he went off to Vietnam & remember, like it was yesterday, leaping into his arms when he returned. He came back a pot smoker w/ a deadly long-range jumper on the basketball court. Billy was warm and funny. A good time guy. He told the same stories, over and over again. Girls liked him.
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Xmas & the ever-present cigarette. Barbara, seated. He loved that Clockwork Orange soundtrack.
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For a long stretch, he was my favorite big brother, the way a five-year-old kid idolizes a big brother. I guess that’s the version of Billy I’ll remember & miss most. I am 100% sure that he saved his best love, his truest & most steadfast heart, for his only son, Kevin. As it should be. I grew up with four older brothers and I’ve now watched three of them get up & go: Neal, John, Bill. Big sigh.
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Billy pedaling, his brother Neal hitching a ride, maybe 1951 in America, Wantagh, Long Island. All the world at their feet. Neal passed in 1993. And ever since, like a ship with the ballast unbalanced, not quite sitting right in the water, our family has never been as sea-worthy. The end comes for us all.
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Category: Family / Tags: Bill Preller Wantagh, James Preller family, Neal Preller, Photos William Preller Wantagh, William Preller
Family Matters, Circa Easter, 1966
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On school visits, I’ll often show this photo and say something like, “That’s me in the middle . . . five years old . . . surrounded by giants.”
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Easter, 1966.
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And I’ll sometimes add, “How do I know it’s Easter? My sisters are wearing hats.”
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Category: Family, School Visits / Tags: James Preller as a child, James Preller growing up, James Preller photo, Preller Family Wantagh