The goal of yesterday was to 1) compile a dance mix consisting solely of favorite dance tunes submitted by those who responded to the following question: “Favorite dance tune? Weigh in please,” and then 2) dance the entire mix through without stopping. There were subsidiaries (not the right word, but I like it anyway) of … Continue reading Day Twenty-Two, in which we fall far, far short of our stated goal
I live in the middle of a biggish city, a city known for its theaters and art galleries and museums and music and literature, and this means that every single day and night multiple artsy things are happening all over the place. This means that every single day and night I could be out enjoying … Continue reading Day Twenty-One: We go on an outing
The Dubliners – Patrick Kavanagh On Raglan Road of an autumn day I saw her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare That I might one day rue I saw the danger and I passed Along the enchanted way And said let grief be a fallen leaf At the dawning of … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Patrick Cavanaugh
I read something last night that made me very angry. That sentence alone —I read something last night that made me very angry— is something I’ve never done before. What I would usually write is something like this: I read something last night that made me very sad. Or, I read something last night that … Continue reading Day Twenty: In which we sit on a porch swing late at night
Something I’d never done before last night: sat up late at my kitchen table with my friend Kingsley, looking at the family photos he’s brought with him from his home in Queens. Kingsley: And this was taken at my father’s 70th birthday party. Me: Look at that cake. And look at his smile! Kingsley: He … Continue reading Day Nineteen: Can you bake (an apple) pie?
Day Eighteen, in which one realizes that sometimes, one doesn’t want to do something one has never done before. One thinks, I just want to stick with the tried and true. But one has taken a vow, and one must forge on. One casts one’s eye about the kitchen, wondering if something ne’er-done-before can be … Continue reading Day Eighteen: In which one goes against one's grain
I had a friend, an old woman who lived nearby, who was born injured. Her hip was paralyzed. My friend was very small and when I hugged her I folded myself far, far down. She liked wearing leopard slacks around me because she knew I admired her leopard slacks. She lived her whole life injured. … Continue reading Day 17: Camouflage
It was raining lightly in the early morning as my trusty canine companion, who answers to the human name of Pete, and I headed out. We were acting on a hot tip from a friend, whose mysterious instructions were only “Go to the Black Forest right away and look in the alley behind it.” This was … Continue reading Day Sixteen: and wild and sweet the words repeat
As certain of my students know, I usually don’t like books on the craft of writing. There are a few exceptions (Bird by Bird and Art and Fear, for example), but anything that attempts to lay out a set of rules makes me chafe. More to the point, I’ve seen too many people read endlessly … Continue reading Day Fifteen: Starting with a box
All my life I’ve admired those women who grab their long hair, twist it up into a lump on the back of their head, shove a pencil through the lump and then walk around for the rest of the day with a perfect pencil-held bun in their hair. I’ve attempted this little trick many times … Continue reading Day Fourteen: In Chinese we call this "kuaizi toufa." Or at least I do.