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Tesseracts and Tree Nymphs

May 5, 2018 in Astro Matters, Book Matters, Cat Lady Matters, City Matters, Quoth the Raving, Spirit Matters, Weather Matters

Up before the sun so I can properly greet her when she arrives. Settled on a screened-in country porch with coffee, permakitten and I sniffing that sweet, sweet air. Grateful, so grateful. The birds singing a song so true I don’t want to interrupt but am feeling Joni strongly today. (Is she close to slipping away entirely? is she simply the goddess of early morning melody?) Ladies of the Canyon is added to their symphony and then–

Grace doing her yoga mistress poses–she’s got those down–me reaching toward that peach and pink horizon, hands in the air, toes in the wet grass.

It’s still Taurus season, and I’m upstate at A’s as of yesterday.  I needed to be put in my place by wood nymphs, birds, big blue sky.

It got hot so fast this week in New York. In general, my favorite city has never been keen on interstices. Fur hats one day, bare shoulders the next–tempers rising, horns honking. So it was that the glorious kerfuffle of a NYC summer boiled over in the course of one day. Continue Reading →

A Place So Hard To Find

April 19, 2018 in Book Matters, City Matters, Country Matters, Film Matters, Music Matters

Last night at Westchester’s Emelin Theater, I lectured on RBG, a new documentary about Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg. It was beyond reassuring to discuss this well-mannered, succinct, intellectually rigorous, even-handed, courageous, tenacious, and scrupulous woman. Even more reassuring to watch scenes of her working out vigorously with a trainer at age 85.

We need the Justice to live to a biblical age—200, even 250. Maybe clone herself too. But right now, she’s still a key cog in the U.S. government, the ultimate antidote to  this political climate of hot air, hot heads, (not) hot messes. As I zoomed back into the city, the traffic a mere trickle at that hour, I looked at the spiny diamonds of the city skyline and just grinned.

It’s still ours.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. The world–especially the United–is still going to hell in a handbasket. But I am starting to think my prediction that Trump and his cronies will exit the White House in cuffs will be realized. Better yet, every day I continue to work on a book I’ve wanted to write for decades. Today I already have penned 1,600 words, and now am swilling an extraordinary spicy turkey sandwich and a post-work glass of vino. On my speakers Marc Dorsy is crooning: “Somewhere in life there’s a joy to be/Between the hope and reality.”  I feel the extraordinary solidarity of my girlfriends far and near, foremothers alive and dead, and Miss Grace, sitting pretty on my legs. O, if money didn’t exist, I’d be the happiest 47-year-old in all the land.

Happy All the Time

April 13, 2018 in Astro Matters, Book Matters, Cat Lady Matters, City Matters, Essays, Feminist Matters, Ruby Intuition

I’ve been putting all my energy into the book so haven’t had the bandwidth to check in here. But it occurs to me I’ve developed a nasty habit of only reporting the bad stuff, so I’m going to let you in on a little secret.

Lately, despite all the mishegos in our country and in the world, I feel incredibly grateful.

As soon as the sun pours into my bedroom every morning, I spring out of bed, a free man in Paris. Better yet: A free lady in Brooklyn. Yes, I run through my financial anxieties, my hanging cliffs of what-ifs. But then I leap into my routine. It goes something like this.

Turn on coffeemaker while Miss Gracie meows angrily. Pee while Miss Gracie meows angrily. Feed Miss Gracie to end said angry meowing. Settle back into bed with mug and remind Miss Grace with Pavlovian scratches and kisses that cuteness levels raise exponentially when angry meowing ceases. Ogle the last bit of sunrise, as well as (confession) Foster Kittens. Then put on grown-up lady bra, fetch a scallion-cheddar scone from the Italians next door (Piccione! they cry. Ask Grace why), and sashay down the street to my new writers’ space. Continue Reading →

"All, everything I understand, I understand only because I love."
― Leo Tolstoy