Creating art can be an act of resistance, which is maybe one of the major reasons to do it. Art can show us new ways of thinking, new ways of understanding an idea. Maybe we’re afraid of something and we read a story in which the object of our fear, a spider or a snake […]
Well, I’ll be damned. Just when I thought it was all doom and gloom, there are little slivers of hope like fragile shards of broken light penetrating my world. Don’t worry, it’s mostly still doom and gloom, maybe just doo and gloo, though. Michael and I watched a PBS series called A Brief History of
Winter lasted two weeks, and spring is already well underway, and yes … it’s lovely, and yet. And yet. Oh, yet. Regular followers of this blog know I am a fan of winter, of long dark nights and cold days and even snow. And even though all of that stuff wears out its welcome after
Well, it happens sometimes, doesn’t it? We need to hole up and be hermits for a while, us introverts anyway. I can’t seem to recharge enough lately, and I’m not sure why. It might be atmospheric, social, political, environmental, solar storms … could be anything, honestly. But the struggle is very real, and I’m sorry
So yeah, turned 59 a couple days ago and … surprise surprise, I have some thoughts … First of all, I am not handling it particularly well. 30 was a blur. 40 was actually pretty great. 50 was really good. But the prospect of turning 60 in a year is leaving me … I don’t
The Refrigerator Wife trope has haunted us for centuries. There are plenty of fairy tales where a woman has to die in order for something to happen, and so many books from the 18th and 19th centuries where a woman is just starting to have some agency over her life and has to either commit suicide or die of the consumption (it’s always the fucking consumption, innit?) because we can’t have women making their own decisions about their lives.
And silliness in movement, of course. Gotta have the silly. I have spent a ridiculous amount of time being still in the past 10 days post-eye surgery, and am struggling a bit to get moving again. Part of me wonders if I am just not ready, and another part of me wonders if … well,
Twelve years ago this month I stepped away from an unhappy marriage and never looked back. Yeah, yeah, do the math … okay there was some overlap. Whatever. I’m over it. The Lightning of True Love struck a bit before I was safely able to extricate myself from the situation I was in. It happens.
Some of us have reached the age where our heroes are disappearing off the face of the Earth. We have to figure out how to navigate a world without Tina Turner, Gordon Lightfoot, Cormac McCarthy, Harry Belafonte … so many are gone. It’s part of growing up, like being kicked out of yet another nest.
I did something recently that scared the shit out of me, but ended up really, really good anyway. I don’t need to elaborate, much anyway, because really, it’s kind of a universal idea. I knew I needed to do a thing, figured out a way to make it happen, sewed an extra pocket into the
