You've Got a Friend in Me (Randy Newman, from Toy Story)

As promised on Monday, today is all about Colin's birthday celebration.  Two years old?!?  Wow... and Yep!  Despite the pandemic, Sarah planned a most wonderful day of fun and festivities, which took place this past Sunday (a few days before his actual birthday, July 21).  The theme was TWO Infinity and Beyond, as he is totally into Toy Story these days...  :-)

She had decorated the living room with crepe paper streamers, balloons all over the floor, and a Check-Off list of various activities, which delighted Colin as soon as he woke up!  

She had also arranged a Car Parade of various friends (the Besties, their husbands, and children; Nancy, her husband, and dog Lucy; Sarah's former boss, friend, and another co-worker).  We set up a 10' x 10' canopy in her apartment complex parking lot, where there is a natural round-about (all the way at the end, out of the way of traffic), and Sarah used the gates previously known as The Party Pit to keep Colin "contained" (so very smart!).  

Then began the progression of vehicles (from 10:00 to 10:30 a.m.) decorated with balloons, stickers, and people inside blowing horns, waving, and extending Birthday wishes.  He was enthralled!  

 Sarah made a Spotify playlist of songs with Two in the title (my suggestions were Two of Us by The Beatles, The Power of Two by Indigo Girls, Two Princes by The Spin Doctors, Love Me Two Times by The Doors).  Special Events habits die hard, so of course Sarah passed out goody bags with a Moonpie, a Starcrunch, and a few mini-Milky Ways for each person, gracing the children with juice boxes, and the adults with Sunshine beers... ☀

From set-up to breakdown, we were only there three hours, but I was exhausted afterward.  Two-year-olds are busy people!  I spent the rest of the afternoon/evening remembering this time two years ago when Colin came into the world, and feeling such joy being there to witness.  I was meant to be a Lala... 💖


SONG:  You've Got a Friend in Me by Randy Newman, from Toy Story)

BOOK:  Child of the Universe by Ray Jayawardhana, Raul Colón (Illustrator)

POEM:  On Children by Kahlil Gibran

Your children are not your children.
They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself.
They come through you but not from you,
And though they are with you yet they belong not to you.

You may give them your love but not your thoughts,
For they have their own thoughts.
You may house their bodies but not their souls,
For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow,
which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams.
You may strive to be like them,
but seek not to make them like you.
For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday.

You are the bows from which your children
as living arrows are sent forth.
The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite,
and He bends you with His might
that His arrows may go swift and far.
Let your bending in the archer's hand be for gladness;
For even as He loves the arrow that flies,

so He loves also the bow that is stable.

QUOTE(S):  "We find delight in the beauty and happiness of children that makes the heart too big for the body." ~ Ralph Waldo Emerson

"There are only two lasting bequests we can hope to give our children. One of these is roots, the other, wings." ~ Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

The Circle of Life (Elton John/Tim Rice, from The Lion King)

[thanks to my sister Mari for this picture she texted to me yesterday, the cover of Mom's funeral mass program.  We wanted to run the full-length photo, but the church made us crop out her shapely legs...  ;-) ]


Yesterday, July 19, marked 11 years since my Mom's passing.  I was less melancholy than usual, since we also celebrated my grandbaby Colin's 2-year birthday (which is actually tomorrow, July 21) and I will blog about that Wednesday.  It was a very Circle of Life occasion, and I know Connie was peeking in from wherever she is, taking in the joy and the chaos.  She would have loved this little guy!

How can so much time have gone by?  Seems like only yesterday I flew up to Atlanta from South Florida in May 2009 to go with Mom to a doctor's appointment (Mari had been diligently holding down the proverbial fort), Mom asked what phase she was in, and the doctor looked her directly in the eyes and told her honestly that "it was the beginning of the end".  We called my sister and brother on the way home to share the news with them, and convened a meeting at Mom's house for the next day.  Talked about all the options, and chose to bring in home hospice a day or so later.  At that point, what for me started as a two-week visit lovingly morphed into end-of-life caregiving.

Mari, Brad, and I quickly circled the wagons, and affirmed to do whatever it took to keep mom happy and comfortable, also bringing in her dear friends/neighbors Claire and Steve, Ann, and Rose.  We spread the word, and other friends/family scheduled visits, always careful not to wear mom out.  I got my nose pierced with a tiny diamond, to always remind me of her:  shiny and sharp...  :-)  We made, and checkmarked, a To Do List.  We grocery shopped and cooked, and Mari was in charge of Happy Hour.  Brad came over every Sunday to vacuum the carpets and do odd jobs, and then stayed for our Family Dinner tradition.  We started keeping a daily journal to log Mom's ever-changing medical routine (pills and nebulizer).  We vowed there would be no woulda/coulda/shouldas, and there weren't.  No regrets.

Her body betrayed her (pulmonary fibrosis), but Mom stayed alert until the very end.  She is in all of us, with so many special character traits, most especially joie de vivre.  I experience memory sparks every day:  a song, a movie, a TV show, a philosophy, a laugh, a smile.  Constance (Concetta) Elaine Izzo Driskell Maresco knew how to live.  Despite occasional friction, I loved my mom fiercely and am grateful for the lessons she imparted and the love she bestowed... 💖


SONG:  The Circle of Life by Elton John/Tim Rice, from The Lion King

BOOK:  The Circle of Life: The Heart's Journey Through the Seasons by Joyce Rupp, Macrina Wiederkehr

POEM(S):  Still Falling for Her by Sharon Olds

The phlox in the jar is softening,
from the sphere of it a blossom flutters,
and the whole sagging thing makes me think
of my mother’s flesh, when she was elderly, and it was
wilting, keeping its prettiness
in its old-fangled gentleness.
It’s as if I’m falling in love, again,
with my mother, through the gallowsglass of my
own oncoming elderliness, as if,
now that she has been gone from the earth
as many years as a witch’s familiar
has lives, I can catch glimpses of my mother, at
moments when she was alone with herself, and would
pick up her pen, and her Latinate
vocabulary, and describe what it
was like, on their last cruise, when she rose,
by invitation, from the captain’s table,
and stood beside the black, grand
Steinway, in the open ocean,
and sang. I do not need a picture to
remind me of the look on my mom’s
face, when she sang—extreme yearning,
a yearning out at the edge of what was
socially acceptable
on a ship like that, and you could also see
how happy her face was, to be looked at,
and you could see her listening to her own voice,
to hear if it started to go flat, or anything
she needed to do to get the music
to its hearers intact as itself, I am falling,
and I do not feel that there are rocks, below,
I think I may go on falling, like my own
flesh, for the rest of my life, and maybe I’ll
still be falling for my mother after
my death—or not falling but orbiting,
with her, and maybe we’ll take turns
who is the moon, and who is the earth.


Eagle Poem by Joy Harjo

To pray you open your whole self
To sky, to earth, to sun, to moon
To one whole voice that is you.
And know there is more
That you can’t see, can’t hear;
Can’t know except in moments
Steadily growing, and in languages
That aren’t always sound but other
Circles of motion.
Like eagle that Sunday morning
Over Salt River. Circled in blue sky
In wind, swept our hearts clean
With sacred wings.
We see you, see ourselves and know
That we must take the utmost care
And kindness in all things.
Breathe in, knowing we are made of
All this, and breathe, knowing
We are truly blessed because we
Were born, and die soon within a
True circle of motion,
Like eagle rounding out the morning
Inside us.
We pray that it will be done
In beauty.
In beauty.

QUOTE:   "There is a sacredness in tears. They are not the mark of weakness, but of power. They speak more eloquently than ten thousand tongues. They are the messengers of overwhelming grief, of deep contrition, and of unspeakable love." ~ Washington Irving

I've Been Everywhere - Covid 19 version (Jonathan Byrd)

Considering the circumstances, another good week.  Three nice Zoom calls, two of them in regular rotation, and the third with our book club, which hadn't met since February (our March meeting was obviously cancelled).  We kept thinking things would get better and, now that they aren't, we are pondering our options.  We were already scheduled through June, and will probably discuss those four choices September through December (or January).  It's sad to me that our longstanding tradition of theming the food around the book will be temporarily discontinued but... we can still drink wine, albeit in the privacy of our own homes.  However, none of that matters, as long as we can keep our book discussions going!

Yesterday was a lovely beach day with Nancy at SusanP's home... three hours of sun, sand, surf, spritzers, and scintillating conversation.  I have not been this tan in years.  P.S.  Yes, watershoes are a gamechanger, both on the hot sand as well as at the pebbly shoreline...  :-)

My dear grandbaby Colin will turn 2 this Tuesday, July 21... and we are celebrating Sunday morning, a few days before, with a car parade in Sarah's apartment complex.  Recap to follow on Monday, but let's just all sit a minute to let this impossibility sink in.  Two years old?!?  Crazy!

Cleaning house today (ugh!) but it must be done.  New library book as a dangling carrot.  Speaking of, I met my Book A Week Challenge a few days ago.  Every year I either get close to 52, or just barely hit it.  This year, between retirement and the pandemic, I am 5 1/2 months ahead of goal.  At this rate, I might hit triple digits!  It's not a race, and it's not a gauntlet.  It's a pleasure as well as a coping mechanism, and I am truly enjoying vetting the books I check out from the library, so as to set myself up for success, interspersing fiction with non-, current with older, popular with classic.  Find me on Goodreads if you wish, and check out the sidebar on my home page to see what I'm reading... 💗

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!  


~ Broadway Continues to Keep the Lights On:  Theatres across the country may currently be silent, but in every Broadway house, a lamp sits centerstage burning bright. It's called a ghost light, and it's a tradition that goes back to the late 1800s.  CBS Sunday Morning speaks with members of the Broadway community about how we are keeping the lights on during this dark time, onstage, and in our hearts.


~ This Pickle Is a Cake:  Welcome to the viral world of hyper-realistic cake slicing videos.


~ Alex Trebek Is Still in the Game:  In his new memoir, the longtime “Jeopardy!” host delivers clues and facts about himself, and looks back on his life as he struggles with advanced pancreatic cancer.  (Despite the fact my friend Stephen thinks he is "smarmy", I have a long-time crush on AT:  not tall, which is my usual criteria, but smart with mischievous eyes.  Heads-up that I have asked my husband to buy this book for my upcoming birthday... :-) )


~ Greetings from BookCation:  Vacation is wherever your book is


~ Hamilton Act 1 but it's Muppets:  This is a fan-made parody. It is no way affiliated with The Muppets or Hamilton, and I claim no ownership of either. This is purely parody. (cast and tracklist included in link)



SONG:  I've Been Everywhere - Covid 19 version by Jonathan Byrd

BOOK:  Private Investigations: Mystery Writers on the Secrets, Riddles, and Wonders in Their Lives by Victoria Zackheim

POEM:  first, we have to start with nothing by Maya Stein

We have to wake, nakedly, from the place of dreams. We have to stumble from the sheets
and gape, slack-mouthed, at the morning ahead, our feet shoddy on the floorboards.
We have to pitch into an empty kitchen, hands clawing toward a clean mug.
We have to feel shaken from what we’d carried, our bones awkward with the
unburdening that sleep was, everything that had looked so certain, so clear, even
when we knew it wasn’t. We have to squint against the sharpness of this rough canvas
of a day, the questions that scratch impolitely before we are ready to listen. We have to
remember how small we really are, how permeable. We have to linger in this raw reality
before the task of proving ourselves can begin. We have to marry what we wish we could
abandon forever. We have to be willing to save ourselves again and again and again.

QUOTE:  "Let's cultivate our capacity to be astonished... to be thrilled by every subtle mystery that sneaks into our daily rhythm... to make ourselves
fully available for the unexpected riddles that life is always setting in front of us." ~ Rob Brezsny

I Love Trash (Oscar the Grouch)

I well recall celebrating the first Earth Day (April 22, 1970) in my sophomore year of high school, when they educated us, along with setting up a recycling center... and I have been an advocate of the environment ever since.  I've been using canvas bags for grocery shopping and reusable containers for leftovers for decades, and my family can attest to my fanaticism about recycling.  About five years ago, I asked them for a composter for Mother's Day, but that never happened and now, with our move to a smaller space, we wouldn't have space for it anyway... :-(

My friend NW has had one for a few years, and I asked her the other day if I could collect compostable material at my house, and donate it to her... and she lovingly said Yes!  I bought a small tabletop bin, in which I've been collecting the obligatory banana peels, eggshells (my husband's), coffee grounds and filters, apple cores, vegetable scraps, etc. and my first delivery is today (hoping to do it weekly).  It's not a lot, but it's something, and it makes me feel better that this stuff will not end up in a landfill, but instead in a "compost stew" that will eventually nourish Nancy's garden.  Win/win!

SONG:  I Love Trash by Oscar the Grouch

BOOK:  Organic Book of Compost, 2nd Revised Edition: Easy and Natural Techniques to Feed Your Garden (IMM Lifestyle Books) Handbook to Sustainable, Low-Cost Methods, Community Composting, & More, with FAQs by Pauline Pears

Compost Stew: An A to Z Recipe for the Earth by Mary McKenna Siddals, Ashley Wolff (Illustrator)

POEM:  The Good, the Bad and the Inconvenient by Marge Piercy

Gardening is often a measured cruelty:
what is to live and what is to be torn
up by its roots and flung on the compost
to rot and give its essence to new soil.

It is not only the weeds I seize.
go down the row of new spinach—
their little bright Vs crowding—
and snatch every other, flinging

their little bodies just as healthy,
just as sound as their neighbors
but judged, by me, superfluous.
We all commit crimes too small

for us to measure, the ant soldiers
we stomp, whose only aim was to
protect, to feed their vast family.
It is I who decide which beetles

are "good" and which are "bad"
as if each is not whole in its kind.
We eat to live and so do they,
the locusts, the grasshoppers,

the flea beetles and aphids and slugs.
By bad I mean inconvenient. Nothing
we do is simple, without consequence
and each act is shadowed with death.

QUOTE:  "A program to make municipal composting of food and yard waste mandatory and then distributing the compost free to area farmers would shrink America's garbage heap, cut the need for irrigation and fossil-fuel fertilizers in agriculture, and improve the nutritional quality of the American diet." ~ Michael Pollan

Who Needs Wings to Fly (sung by Sally Field, as The Flying Nun)

I read Sally Field's autobiography last week (obviously self-penned).  Although the writing is meh, it is extremely honest.  I've always appreciated her as an actress but, upon finishing, I came away with a new-found respect.  She began her career with Gidget and The Flying Nun, two TV series that attempted to typecast her in a fluffy comedienne role, and a large part of the rest of her life was breaking through to be considered for quality roles, which eventually happened, much of it due to her diligence in taking classes with Lee Strasberg at the Actors Studio.  She won an Academy Award for Best Actress in 1979 for Norma Rae, and another in 1984 for Places in the Heart.

I was not previously aware of the childhood trauma suffered, which informed everything from her choice of men to her relationship with her mother to her parenting decisions, but she never stopped viewing her crossroads as growth opportunities, and finally integrated her various selves into wholeness (much like Sybil, for which she won an Emmy for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama or Comedy Special).

Subsequently, I've been working my way through Field's filmography of lesser-known movies; don't waste your time on Stay Hungry or Maybe I'll Come Home in the Spring... but I highly recommend Two Weeks, which not only brought up memories of the end-of-life journey with my mom, but also inspired me to fast-forward to the stage when I am the one in need of caregiving... 💔

I may even start watching her TV series Brothers & Sisters, which I somehow passed over when it ran from 2006 to 2011.  All this to say, I applaud Sally Field for overcoming adversity and life obstacles to become who she is now, both professionally and personally.


SONG:  Who Needs Wings to Fly (sung by Sally Field)

BOOK:  In Pieces by Sally Field

POEM:  The Threat by Denise Duhamel

my mother pushed my sister out of the apartment door with an empty 
suitcase because she kept threatening to run away  my sister was sick of me
getting the best of everything  the bathrobe with the pink stripes instead of 
the red  the soft middle piece of bread while she got the crust  I was sick with 
asthma and she thought this made me a favorite

I wanted to be like the girl in the made-for-tv movie Maybe I'll Come Home
in the Spring   which was supposed to make you not want to run away but it 
looked pretty fun especially all of the agony it put your parents through and 
the girl was in California or someplace warm with a boyfriend and they
always found good food in the dumpsters  at least they could eat pizza and 
candy and not meat loaf  the runaway actress was Sally Field or at least
someone who looked like Sally Field as a teenager  the Flying Nun propelled 
by the huge wings on the sides of her wimple  Arnold the Pig getting drafted
in Green Acres my understanding then of Vietnam  I read Go Ask Alice and 
The Peter Pan Bag books that were designed to keep a young girl home  but 
there were the sex scenes and if anything this made me want to cut my hair 
with scissors in front of the mirror while I was high on marijuana but I
couldn't inhale because of my lungs  my sister was the one to pass out
behind the church for both of us  rum and angel dust

and that's how it was  my sister standing at the top of all those stairs that 
lead up to the apartment and she pushed down the empty suitcase that
banged the banister and wall as it tumbled and I was crying on the other side 
of the door because I was sure it was my sister who fell  all ketchup blood and 
stuck out bones  my mother wouldn't let me open the door to let my sister 
back in  I don't know if she knew it was just the suitcase or not  she was cold 
rubbing her sleeves a mug of coffee in her hand and I had to decide she said I 
had to decide right then

QUOTE:  "I was raised to sense what someone wanted me to be and be that kind of person. It took me a long time not to judge myself through someone else's eyes." ~ Sally Field

Kindness (Ben Glover)

Life is better, thanksforasking!  I woke up yesterday morning with a skip in my step, a lilt in my voice, and a desire to re-engage with the world.  Had some great phone conversations, accomplished some minor but fulfilling tasks that had been weighing on me, made a delicious vegan lasagna-ish dish, participated in a great discussion with a few friends re: body image, which led me to choose my next book, Hunger by Roxane Gay (see below).  Saw an interview with Sarah Paulson, and will toe-dip into Mrs. America, her new series on Hulu (right up my feminist alley...  :-)

[2:00 p.m., edited to add:  spent some time online with my dear friend Brian earlier today, who fixed my laptop sound issues, which had made Zoom a plague rather than a pleasure.  Back in business to chat with friends.  Thanks and love, BLW... 😍 ]

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!  


~ Whole 60:  The Laura Lippman plan requires that you eat whatever you want whenever you want to eat it, and declare yourself beautiful. We’re not going to lie — it’s really hard. (thanks to Judi for alerting me to this amazing article!)


~ Louvre virtual tour


~ By the Book:  Writers on literature and the literary life.


~ The Radical Quilting of Rosie Lee Tompkins:  A triumphal retrospective at the Berkeley Art Museum confirms her standing as one of the great American artists — transcending craft, challenging painting and reshaping the canon.


~ Hamilton's Secret Character: How Death Appears Throughout The Show:  A member of Hamilton's ensemble plays a character called "The Bullet," who represents death gunning for Hamilton and the other characters.  (thanks again goes to Judi.  I didn't know this!  Did you know this?!?)



SONG:  Kindness by Ben Glover (thanks to Amy Speace for the heads-up on this song; she performed it for the Camp Jews Don't Camp virtual Kerrville campfire, and I was immediately hooked... 💖)

BOOK:  Hunger: A Memoir of (My) Body by Roxane Gay

POEM:  Flower Song / Flor y Canto by Francisco X. Alarcón

every tree
a brother
every hill
a pyramid
a holy spot

every valley
a poem
in xochitl
in cuicatl
flower and song

every cloud
a prayer
every rain
drop
a miracle

every body
a seashore
a memory 
at once lost
and found.

we all together—
fireflies
in the night
dreaming up
the cosmos


cada árbol
un hermano
cada monte
una pirámide
un oratorio

cada valle
un poema
in xochitl
in cuicatl
flor y canto

cada nube
una plegaria
cada gota
de lluvia
un milagro

cada cuerpo
una orilla
al mar
un olvido
encontrado

todos juntos—
luciérnagas
de la noche
soñando
el cosmos

QUOTE:  "A good way to become more fearless is to cultivate tenderness. As you expand your capacity to feel compassionate affection, you have less to be
afraid of.  That's the opposite of conventional wisdom, which says you become brave by toughening up, by reinforcing your psychic armor." ~ Rob Brezsny

Black & Blue (Danny Schmidt)

"If you are not outraged, you are not paying attention." (can't seem to find the original attribution.)


Pompano Beach Protests 'Keep This Energy Going':  More than a month since protests began following the death of George Floyd while a Minneapolis police officer kneeled on his neck, demonstrations continued all over South Florida.

Three Words. 70 Cases. The Tragic History of ‘I Can’t Breathe.’:  The deaths of Eric Garner in New York and George Floyd in Minnesota created national outrage over the use of deadly police restraints. There were many others you didn’t hear about.

Danny Schmidt does it again.  No surprise there... ❤

This time spent in quarantine has lent itself to recording and releasing songs in near realtime, as I'm writing them. I don't know if that has inspired me to write songs that are of a more timely and topical nature, or if these extraordinary times have inspired me to write about the here and now. But whichever, it is topical tunes that seem to be bubbling out. And I've got a new one for you entitled, Black & Blue.

It's a song that deals with the state of race in this country, the role of force in policing, and the spiritual cost of brutality. These issues have obviously been top of mind for a lot of us lately. The tensions underlying the relationship between law enforcement and the black community are deep and complex, and have a long dark history Unraveling ourselves from that history will take a long time. This song focuses on the will to do the work.

SONG:  Black & Blue by Danny Schmidt [from Danny:  Usually, when I make a lyric video, it's a bit of an after-thought. This time is different. I set the song to a backdrop of images from the protests and the public outcry, and I actually think the juxtaposition makes the experience of the song itself a stronger one. The photos themselves are so provocative and powerful, they actually made me quite emotional as I was cutting them together.]

BOOK:  We Can't Breathe: On Black Lives, White Lies, and the Art of Survival by Jabari Asim

POEM:  I Can’t Breathe by Pamela Sneed

I suppose I should place them under separate files
Both died from different circumstances kind of, one from HIV AIDS and possibly not having
taken his medicines
the other from COVID-19 coupled with
complications from an underlying HIV status
In each case their deaths may have been preventable if one had taken his meds and the
hospital thought to treat the other
instead of sending him home saying, He wasn’t sick enough
he died a few days later
They were both mountains of men
dark black beautiful gay men
both more than six feet tall fierce and way ahead of their time
One’s drag persona was Wonder Woman and the other started a black fashion magazine
He also liked poetry
They both knew each other from the same club scene we all grew up in
When I was working the door at a club one frequented
He would always say to me haven’t they figured out you’re a star yet
And years ago bartending with the other when I complained about certain people and
treatment he said sounds like it’s time for you to clean house
Both I know were proud of me the poet star stayed true to my roots
I guess what stands out to me is that they both were
gay black mountains of men
Cut down
Felled too early
And it makes me think the biggest and blackest are almost always more vulnerable
My white friend speculates why the doctors sent one home
If he had enough antibodies
Did they not know his HIV status
She approaches it rationally
removed from race as if there were any rationale for sending him home
Still she credits the doctors for thinking it through
But I speculate they saw a big black man before them
Maybe they couldn’t imagine him weak
Maybe because of his size color class they imagined him strong
said he’s okay
Which happened to me so many times
Once when I’d been hospitalized at the same time as a white girl
she had pig-tails
we had the same thing but I saw how tenderly they treated her
Or knowing so many times in the medical system I would never have been treated so terribly if I
had had a man with me
Or if I were white and entitled enough to sue
Both deaths could have been prevented both were almost first to fall in this season of death
But it reminds me of what I said after Eric Garner a large black man was strangled to death over
some cigarettes
Six cops took him down
His famous lines were I can’t breathe
so if we are always the threat
To whom or where do we turn for protection?

QUOTE:  "The horrific cases in Ferguson, in Staten Island with the death of Eric Garner, and all across the country serve as stark reminders that we must have a say in who polices us, and how that policing is done. We must, we must, let our voices be heard on Election Day." ~ Al Sharpton

In a World of My Own (from Alice in Wonderland)

As I was out running errands last Thursday (and by running errands, I mean doing a drive-thru library pick-up of books I had on reserve), I looked in the rearview mirror and realized I resembled The Invisible Man (H. G. Wells' version, not Ralph Ellison's...  😎 )

 I desperately need a haircut (I've actually done some self-snipping a time or two with the problem areas) so, many days, I just throw on a headband that color-coordinates with my outfit and channel my inner Keith Richards.  Who gives a sh*t.  I don't venture out into the world often (except to the aforementioned library), and it's not like any of them know or care what I look like anyway, right?

In the last week, I seem to have made a very conscious decision to not only go down the rabbit hole, but stay there (go ask Alice...  ;-)  Back to feeling blah, weird, roly-poly-ish, and knowing I am not very good company right now, even for phone calls or Zoom or texts.  I honestly don't need cheering up; there is nothing anyone can do to snap me out of this funk.  It's all on me.  Lots of stressors, family and otherwise, that have left me frustrated and helpless.  As is often the case, allowing myself the benefit of the wallow usually works, until I can rise to my better self.  I'll get there, and thanking everyone in advance for their patience and understanding.

What I really need is a massage, which I haven't had since early-March.  I am a member of the Massage Envy wellness program but, because I have been so risk-averse for the last 3+ months, it doesn't make sense to take a chance (even though I totally trust my tried-and-true Karen!).  Despite my tendency to b*tch and shut down on a regular basis, my dear saint of a husband gives me a back rub almost every night.  His picture is next to the phrase "unconditional love" in the dictionary... 💓


SONG:  In a World of My Own from Alice in Wonderland (flip side:  Blink-182's Rabbit Hole)

BOOK:  Through the Rabbit Hole: Explore and Experience the Shamanic Journey and Energy Medicine by Jan Engels-Smith

POEM:  Fog by Alison Luterman

We don’t have snow here
but some mornings the whole world
is white and hushed and soft with fog
and whatever troubles we went to sleep
clutched to our thudding hearts
have loosened overnight and are dissolving
in mist. The regal hills
to the East have been erased
behind a cottony scrim, and people
appear to appear
out of nowhere in the dawn hush.
An old woman in mask and gloves
pushes her shopping cart
full of salvaged empties. A mother hauls
two babies up the street, one in a backpack,
one in a stroller. A man
with dreadlocks and headphones
cruises by on his bike,
no-hands. All of them
whoosh into the frame
and then vanish. Like the future, or the past,
or some other dimension, alive,
but invisible to us.

[Alison Luterman: “I feel a kind of mental fogginess creeping in as we enter week infinity of sheltering-in-place with no certainty about what the future holds—not that we ever had certainty, not really. At times like these it’s helpful for me to remember that there has always been mystery at the heart of life.”]

QUOTE(S):  "I'm a little hibernating animal. Anonymity is one of my favorite things. I mean, that's why I moved to New York when I was like 18, because there, there are just so many people that there's no one and you're just lost. You're completely invisible and I find that very liberating." ~ Ani DiFranco

"Bizarrely, I actually feel safer the older I get, like people will expect less from me, and I can become more and more invisible, yet more and more eccentric." ~ Marian Keyes

"I've always been a very sensitive person, and people tell me that if I'm in a certain mood, and I go into a room, my mood will permeate the room. It's not on purpose - I'd rather be invisible in those moments - but I'm really bad at faking how I feel." ~ Rooney Mara

The Hamilton Polka (Weird Al Yankovic)

It's what everyone's talking about!  Hamilton is streaming on Disney+, as of 3:00 this morning.  Probably a lot of bleary-eyed people walking around in the world right now, and rightfully so.  I have my work cut out for me, attempting to get the app on my TV today, or sometime this evening.  I thought it would be easy but, as with all good things, it's not...  :-)

I have friends who have seen the stage play a double-handful of times (they *do* live in New York, though).  Others have every song/line/word memorized and sing along with wild abandon.  It has become a national and global phenomenon.  I subscribed to the Broward Center for the Performing Arts a few years ago, so that my husband and I would be able to view it in Ft. Lauderdale.  I think the backstory is absolutely fascinating (I mean, who picks up a historical biography in the airport, brings it with them on vacation, and writes a hip-hop play about it?!?), the lyrics/dialogue fast-paced as well as brilliant!

Perfect timing on the eve of our nation's birthday.  Hope you're able to appreciate, wherever you are, and please wish my technoweenie self luck getting in to "the room where it happened"...  :-)

As is tradition, five items below of beauty, interest, and humor (all Hamilton-related) to brighten your day/weekend/week.  Enjoy!  



~ Experience the original Broadway Production of Hamilton, streaming exclusively on Disney+ on July 3 (Official Trailer):  Hamilton is the story of America then, told by America now. Featuring a score that blends hip-hop, jazz, R&B and Broadway, Hamilton has taken the story of American founding father Alexander Hamilton and created a revolutionary moment in theatre—a musical that has had a profound impact on culture, politics, and education. Filmed at The Richard Rodgers Theatre on Broadway in June of 2016, the film transports its audience into the world of the Broadway show in a uniquely intimate way.


~ Lin-Manuel Miranda 'Literally Gave Two F--s' About Swearing in 'Hamilton' Before Musical Lands on Disney+:  Before Hamilton creator Lin-Manuel Miranda appears as Alexander Hamilton on Broadway fans' screens when the musical debuts on Disney+, he had some choice, uncensored words to say about it.


~ Beach Read to Broadway! How Lin-Manuel Miranda Turned a History Book into Hamilton:  The historical hip-hop musical Hamilton, which played an acclaimed Off-Broadway run earlier this year, has taken a circuitous route to its highly anticipated Broadway bow. Take a look back at the show's road to its own historical opening here. [Hamilton" would win 11 Tony Awards, including best musical.]


~ Lin-Manuel Miranda Performs at the White House Poetry Jam:  Writer and star of the Broadway musical In the Heights, Lin-Manuel Miranda performs "The Hamilton Mixtape" at the White House Evening of Poetry, Music, and the Spoken Word on May 12, 2009. Accompanied by Alex Lacamoire.


~ Sorry, You're Not Hamilton - Randy Rainbow



SONG:  ‘The Hamilton Polka’ - Weird Al Yankovic:  February's #Hamildrop collaboration with Weird Al Yankovic is out!  Listen to ‘The Hamilton Polka’, a remixed medley of ‘Hamilton’ hits, featuring Weird Al’s twist on songs like ‘My Shot,’ ‘Wait For It,’ ‘The Schuyler Sisters,’ and more.

BOOK:  Hamilton: The Revolution by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Jeremy McCarter

POEM:  Love Letter to Elizabeth Schuyler by Alexander Hamilton

Immediately after dinner, I stole from a crowd of company to a solitary walk to be at leisure to think of you, and I have just returned to tell you by an express this moment going off that I have been doing so. You are certainly a little sorceress and have bewitched me, for you have made me disrelish every thing that used to please me, and have rendered me as restless and unsatisfied with all about me, as if I was the inhabitant of another world, and had nothing in common with this. I must in spite of myself become an inconstant to detach myself from you, for as it now stands I love you more than I ought—more than is consistent with my peace. A new mistress is supposed to be the best cure for an excessive attachment to an old— if I was convinced of the success of the scheme, I would be tempted to try it— for though it is the pride of my heart to love you it is the torment of it to love you so much, separated as we now are. But I am afraid, I should only go in quest of disquiet, that would make me return to you with redoubled tenderness. You gain by every comparison I make and the more I contrast you with others the more amiable you appear. But why do you not write to me oftener? It is again an age since I have heard from you. I write you at least three letters for your one, though I am immersed in public business and you have nothing to do but to think of me. When I come to Albany, I shall find means to take satisfaction for your neglect. You recollect the mode I threatened to punish you in for all your delinquen[c]ies.

I wrote you a long letter by your father. I suppose you will wait his return before you write. If you do I shall chide you severely and if you do not write me a very long and fond one by him, I shall not forgive you at all. I have written you a short letter since that.
We are now at Dobbes ferry.

I would go on but the General summons me to ride. Adieu My Dear lovely amiable girl. Heaven preserve you and shower its choicest blessings upon you. Love me I conjure you.

QUOTE:  “Those who stand for nothing fall for everything.” ~ Alexander Hamilton

Too Much (Dave Matthews Band)

[This is not my house, I promise... although in a few more months, if the library continues to feed my addiction, it could be...  ;-) ]


Confession Time:  I have hoarding tendencies.  If my children and friends are reading this, they won't be the least bit surprised.  The rest of you may be horrified.  Life has always seemed to run at warp speed, and I could never catch up or, if I got close, stay caught up.  Traveling husband, active children, full-time job, social justice activism, outings with friends, my passion for music:  14 years of coordinating a folk concert series, house concerts in my living room, crossing county and even state lines for concerts and festivals.  There seemed barely enough time for sleeping, much less organization and filing.  If I was having company, I had a tendency to pile paperwork and To Do items in laundry baskets, which I then shoved into the utility room (out of sight, out of mind), intending to unearth and deal with afterward, but never quite getting around to it.  Oops!

When we moved two years ago from our suburban home to our condo complex, with half the square footage, I realized just how many laundry baskets I owned... ;-)  Downsizing forced me to sort into Keep or Trash, winnowing my stacks considerably and now, finally, my life is much more orderly than before.  Liberating.

Now though, during this pandemic, I seem to have fallen back into my old habits, with food and books .  I have been Instacarting (yes, I turned it into a verb!) entirely too often with Publix, Whole Foods and, more recently Costco, all delivered directly to my doorstep.  My fridge, freezer, and pantry are overflowing, plus I have a few large Rubbermaid containers in my guest room closet set aside for (as if the pandemic isn't bad enough) non-perishable items for hurricane season (June 1 through November 30).  I have now gone a week since my last order, and have vowed that only when we are close to running out of coconut creamer for my coffee will I reach out to Johan or Brittany or Xavier for help.

I also am trigger-happy with the Place Hold button on my Broward County Library app.  If a novel, memoir, or essay collection piques my interest:  click!  The only problem is, I currently have 41 books checked out, with another 15 on reserve.  I do not suffer from Abibliophobia (the fear of running out of reading material).  I am just lured to discover as well as motivated to escape, always wanting the Next Write Thing (apologies to Glennon) at my fingertips (or on my optical horizon, as the case may be).  This is all ridiculous, because I have close to 100 books that I own which I haven't yet read.  But no... look, something shiny/NYT bestseller/Readers-with-Attitude recommendation!  And don't even get me started on the sure-to-be-cancelled Miami Book Fair this coming November.  Sob... 😢

My life now seems to be a mash-up of The Grapes of Wrath meets Farenheit 451... and I am ready for whatever happens, well-fed and well-read!


SONG:  Too Much by Dave Matthews Band

BOOK:  Too much, Not enough: A guide to decreasing anxiety and creating balance through intentional choices by Tara Sanderon

POEM:  Who Hoards Rain Clouds in the Desert? by Rajani Radhakrishnan

Who hoards rain clouds in the desert?

There the universe stores vats of virgin happiness, doling
it out like a grim faced Scrooge, while we wait, bowl in

hand, wanting more. Always wanting more. We are made
of longing and hunger. And everywhere we look, is a giant

supermarket feeding that emptiness. Everything in excess,
marked down, on luscious display, the seed of the first apple

feverishly multiplying on every shelf of every aisle and our
hands reaching constantly to fill the ever growing void. Except

for happiness. For that, there is a line and a quota and a price.
We pretend not to see each other. Who will admit to such

privation? We study the signs from a distance. Perhaps, it
is another sorrow, another wound, another word that brings

you here. Does my skin turn transparent as I stand? Do you know
the scars inside? You will not turn your head. I will not call. How

much longer? Who hoards rain clouds in the desert? No one
warned me to save my smile. To save the light in your eyes.

QUOTE:  “At the end, all that's left of you are your possessions. Perhaps that's why I've never been able to throw anything away. Perhaps that's why I hoarded the world: with the hope that when I died, the sum total of my things would suggest a life larger than the one I lived.” ~ Nicole Krauss