IsThisThingOn?

When I butter toast, I almost always think of John K, who once came to visit and put his buttered toast back in the machine for a little last heat. It came out sizzling and bubbly butter, chewy and delicious. While I don't always re-toast mine once buttered, I always think of him.  And I wonder if he realizes that such a tiny moment for all we've done together over the years would revisit me like that, so many a morning. My pal Colleen had me over for dinner when I lived in California. She was pregnant and making one of her super healthy dinners.... And while I'd made asparagus many times, she said, "Look, instead of cutting of the bottoms before steaming, you just run your thumb up the stalk until it snaps naturally."  In that moment I learned that the asparagus itself will let you know the point where the tough becomes tender.  Now I grow asparagus and as I snap them off from the ground, or take them from where I store them to cook, I think of Colleen -I can s...

January 7, 2021  I woke up today feeling run over by a truck. This, just as I got some much needed rejuvenation over the holidays and was so hopeful yesterday. This morning, exhausted, groggy and dull, I scrolled through the headlines, emails, and FB, bombarded with calls to sign this petition, text these congress people. Each article spoke of impeachment or the 25th or even reasons why not doing those might be better in terms of Trumps ultimate consequences. There is still the worry that whatever happens to him, a fascist nation has been fully awakened, fueled by this horrible man Trump, who I remember very well from multiple personal interactions with him when I lived in NYC. Who knew that this vapid egoist ladies man robber baron who was just another New York character would become this? I do not hate... and am struggling with wanting to hate him for what he's grown into and done. But he could not do it unless others helped. Should I also hate the people who jumped aboard? Not ...

A  sample of notes I made when I lived in Paris for a short time when I was 30.  Still editing...   A  continuation from the first installment, found HERE .  (disclaimer: forgive this site's formatting issues) Notes from Paris This material is original and not to be duplicated  or used in any way without the authors permission. DRAWING AT L’ ACADEMIE de la GRANDE CHAUMIERE  or... A ROOM WITH QUITE A VIEW I relinquished speech completely in trade for the chance to  spend an afternoon -   and as it ended up, several more - drawing live models with a room full of strangers.  The entire time I said not one word.  I was hiding in plain sight.   I found my way to a door  that led to an archway, that brought me into   a hall with more doors, one of which was ajar. There was a man,  wearing  glasses and a vest buttoned over a rumpled white shirt,  standing at it's entrance, ...

When I turned 30, I went to Paris for the first time, under circumstances far from what I'd envisioned when, sprawled across my bed as a teenager, I dreamt up a romantic vision of my adult life that included going there. But... I went, and it felt like home from the moment the plane wheels met the tarmac at Orly.  Soon after, I made a decision to put all my spare hours into  writing, to see what was there. Though I had written almost every day since I was 10, I wanted to try my hand at all it's forms in a disciplined way, and set the stage to discover once and for all if it was my calling.    I was living in Hollywood then and so ripe to leave, but I had a few commitments there, keeping me from a wish to move to New York. To cope, I began to go to Paris on a regular basis, even rented an apartment for the span that a long-stay visa would allow (6 months), to see where it took me. By the time I arrived, unexpected developments caused me to cut that plan short. But ...