What was the first music you ever bought with your own money? The Edgar Winter Group album that featured the songs “Frankenstein” and “Free Ride.” I was in the eighth grade. Any reaction from your parents? My father came into the room and discovered the album cover with Edgar Winter in full glam rock mode, … Continue reading First music: Edgar Winters Group.
How old were you? Ten, probably. What did you buy? Johnny Cash, at Folsom Prison. I can still see the cover and the record as it was when I bought it, still shiny and black and unscratched. My allowance at the time was maybe $3/week, out of which I was supposed to buy school lunch. … Continue reading First music ever bought with own money?
Brown Refrigerator – Rick Barot You don’t have to understand it but you will carry it anyway. A couple whose baby died, when they had to move to another state, took the baby from the years-long ground and brought her with them. They did this again a second time, their memory always tied to its … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Rick Barot
Single Thread – Helen Wickes When I was a weaver, I chose a red silk thread to get me to the heart of my creation and then back out, across the loom, to whatever life was waiting. And when you found the little red pathway, buried between warp and woof, you were sure you’d found … Continue reading Poem of the week, by Helen Wickes
Wedding – Emily Rechnitz I stumbled in high heels across the wood chips of the Christmas-tree farm to take my place with the other guests under coarse pine boughs. In a coned damsel cap the bride glimmered through the woods, materialized at the altar microphone. In the barbecue line his mother whispered on my neck, … Continue reading Poem of the Week, by Emily Rechnitz
I was in the laundry room, folding mounds of towels and sheets and listening to one of my favorite doctor-writers, Atul Gawande. Mr. Gawande was talking about how he recently spent time comparing operating room procedures to kitchen procedures at The Cheesecake Factory. He was impressed with the fact that within weeks, all the items … Continue reading And on the 30th day, she looked forward to Indian food with a friend.
Well, well, well. I had such a great thing planned for today’s never done before challenge. I was thinking about this great thing all day long, preparing to put in a couple of hours writing about it tonight. Then I went down into my basement, which, just to give you a visual, is a really … Continue reading Day Twenty-Nine: "Just pretend you stepped on a chicken wing," said my friend. "Little crunchy bones, you know?"
It’s been a long day, and my challenge –to learn how to hula hoop at long last– was completely thwarted by the fact that the only hula hoop in the house, the one that I’ve tried and failed many times to hula with, was apparently constructed for a toddler. When I went to research the … Continue reading Day Twenty-Eight: Ashamed to admit it
Last evening, led by my youthful companions, who know that my hatred of shopping is outweighed only by my love of spending time with them, I entered a never-done-before alternate world. In this alternate world, I observed many things, such as bureaus hung on walls three stories high, giant signs which admonished us ominously to … Continue reading Day Twenty-Seven: We enter an unfamiliar world
Dream: to climb Machu Picchu the long, winding, non-touristy way. Dream: to live for a while (or maybe forever) in Montana or Colorado or Wyoming. Dream: to build a rock or stone terraced wall-garden-thing along the sidewalk in my front yard, fill it in with dirt and then re-plant the insanity that is my perennial … Continue reading Day Twenty-Six: Inspired by that guy with the giant red paper clip
Waking Up to Your Dreams
On James Baldwin and Diverse Literature
Putting those recalcitrant toddler cancer cells to bed...
your own PDK for writing
a collection of beautiful words.....
Objects, Memory and Meaning
If it can't be said in a hundred words, then it can't be said in a thousand.
sewing a handmade wardrobe
"drink from the well of your self and begin again" ~charles bukowski
Musings on poetry, language, perception, numbers, food, and anything else that slips through the cracks.
Thoughts on the world around me
the literary asylum
Bipolar is my superpower
