New Year, Jew Year
Time Is A River Without Banks–Marc Chagall
Today is Rosh Hoshanah, which any New Yorker worth their Kosher salt knows is the Jewish new year.
Gd knows my Italian-American Muppet critics were all over it this morning. Shana tova, kid! they crowed as I slid into the coffee shop for my Americano.
This, after I ushered in the the first morning of 5780 from East River Park, the best sunrise spot in the whole city. Though it was cloudy, Lady Sun was trying her damndest to arrive in a blaze of glory. The results were muted but lovely, as were all the New Yorkers running, walking, biking, tai-chi-ing by the water’s edge. A special glint everywhere.
The glint of rebirth.
In my head there are so many different new years. The new year of every cosmology, and the new year of every individual, which is how I view birthdays. Mine falls on January 19, which I consider magnificent not only because it is Dolly Parton and Cindy Sherman’s birthday but because it grants me a clutch of get-away-free days after the Christian Calendar new year, otherwise known as the phony birthday of Jesus. Continue Reading →
All That Heaven Allows
All hail Douglas Sirk!
Yesterday was the official autumn equinox–the day when everything is equally apportioned, an ideal homage to Libra Season. Much is made of how good and evil, day and night, are in balance at this time. But it’s also when sadness and happiness are in balance. Things are melancholy–summer is ending, leaves are falling, shadows are growing longer. Yet beautiful—-the green and gold light, the harvest bounty, the (mostly) perfect temperatures. Thus we live our lives, at least as long as Mama Nature can offer them. So how to thank her? Climate change activism, reducing carbon imprints. Or, you know, smiling at the sky. Whatever you do, have a bittersweet day, dollies. It’s the deepest kind.
To schedule an intuition appointment during this profound transition, get in touch.
Things I Don’t Need Mansplained (Missive from the Frontlines)
1. Parallel parking. Trust me, I’ve been parallel parking since you were in nappies, son. Actually, I’ve been parallel parking since I was in nappies, too.
2. Movies. Read the room, Einstein.
3. Technology. My dad is a computer scientist; chances are good I can fix it before you can diagnose it.
4. Donald Trump’s psyche.
5. Any male psyche.
6. Definitely not my psyche.
7. Anything, actually.
Dating cis-men has been such a drag lately that I may have to put the kibosh on it entirely (not that many will cry in their beer over an ornery 40something who can’t massage a male ego to save her life, yeah I should take this down).