Monthly Archives: March 2017

Happy Birthday To Me

What a great birthday. I saw both my girls, their lovely men, my grandbabies. I spoke to my son out in Portland, my parents, my siblings. Frankie D and I went to NYC with dear friends. Dinner was had–oh, my, was it had. I got to see Beauty and the Beast, and enjoyed it completely. LaFou (Josh Gad) was my favorite character, though Daniel Evans (DAVID!!! for those who watch Legion) and Emma Watson were fabulous. The whole cast was. Nice little changes made it new.

And then there were all the amazing, lovely, deeply appreciated messages on Facebook. I read every one, and hopefully responded to them all. You do me the honor, I can do no less than thank you.

There were also tears, for the one always missing, of course. There are always tears. They don’t ruin the good times, though. I’m learning to let them co-exist.

So thank you, everyone, for not just making my birthday fabulous, but my everything. Some lament social media, cyberworld, claiming it’s cold and dangerous and insincere. It can be, sure, but it is what you make it, what you allow it to be. For me, it’s just grand.

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Some Big News

The German translation of A Thousand Different Ways will be published by Bastei Lübbe (Cologne, Germany.) How freaking cool is that, huh?

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Filed under A Thousand Different Ways

Long, slow fade

You were here; you were real.

I have to keep reminding myself.

Over and over. You were here;

you were real. It feels so strange

to know, and yet difficult to grasp.

I see your picture, my handsome son, or

that spot in the upstairs bathroom, the chemical

I can’t remove from the pedestal sink.

“I was here,” it tells me. “Don’t forget.”

Forgetting isn’t possible, but this fade…

This fade is intolerable. It makes the

sorrow hit harder when it comes, after

days of being kindly absent.

How can it be? How can it be!

You were here; you were real.

You were here; you were real.

Child of my body. Being of my blood.

My heart. My everything. And now

you’re gone and fading. Your presence

isn’t as strong upon the world you left behind,

or in dreams still connecting these planes we inhabit.

Until that curtain between sorrow and kindness falls

and you fly at me like bats from a cave

at sunset, in movies, in nature shows on television.

I open my arms and catch all of you I can, but

it’s never enough. I’m not fast enough, strong enough,

clever enough to trap so wild a being, one who

doesn’t want to be caught. You were here;

you were real. You were here;

you were real.

You were here. You were.

Weren’t you?

 

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A Little Clarification

About that headshot…

Please understand, it’s not that I don’t like how I look; it’s that I don’t look like me in (most) photos. I hate posed. I’m an animated sort of person, and posing just feels fake. As does dolling up or otherwise glitzing (sparkles are completely acceptable though.) I don’t wear make-up of any kind. Ever. Ok, once in a while I’ll put on some mascara. The thought of this posed picture puts in mind all those things I, personally, can’t stand. It’s creating an illusion of who I am when I am perfectly happy, in fact, ridiculously content, with who I am. It took me a long time to get here. It’s not a position I’ll give up willingly.

In many pictures, even the candid ones, I often lamented that I look either angry or drunk. I’m rarely the former, and never the latter. It’s very rare someone takes a pic of me that I truly love, that I feel absolutely me in. I adore the pic of me I use on Facebook, and the sketch that sprang from it, above. It captures ME. Mischievous gleam, messy hair, no make-up, tiara. ME. I don’t want to put a fake me out into the world. It’s not that I don’t feel fabulous enough; it’s that I feel completely fabulous as I am. I can’t stress that enough, especially for my girls who are convinced I think I’m a hideous monster who eschews the light of day.

A posed pic of me, made up, hair coiffed? Not gonna happen. It’s not an opportunity for me to have some fun, but a step backwards into a me I don’t want to be. Ever. Maybe that seems a bit militant, even silly. What’s the big deal, right? For me, it is.

If I had my way, there would be no pictorial evidence of me whatsoever. I truly feel, and call it hubris (because it pretty much is,) a photo cannot capture me in all my glory. Without going into a long, sad story of how I got to this point, suffice it to say I got here via a road I don’t want to tread again.

So I’ll go and get the headshots done MY way, maybe even try to get a “more acceptable” recreation of the pic I love. If I can’t get a pic I’m as happy with as the one my friend (Sharon) snapped of me that day at lunch, many months ago, I’m going to push for using it because it’s MY image, and I have every right to say what that image is. Right?

*Disclaimer~I have no issue whatsoever with anyone who loves to glam it up, wear make-up, pose for the perfect pic, etc. If that’s your thing, THAT’S YOUR THING. And good for you! It’s just not mine. Savvy?

Pics of me I love.

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Home again, home again! Jiggity-jig!

That nursery rhyme has been bumping about my head since touching down in Newark Airport yesterday. It was an amazing trip. I got to spend a lot of time with my younger brother and his wife (something I’ve never done) as well as my parents, older brother, and his husband, Jon (who I spend way more time with throughout the year.) Spain, France, Italy–it was beyond fabulous, a bit of a whirlwind, and unforgettable.

Viking does it right. The ship was gorgeous, lots to do without being all glitzy and “Las Vegas.”First class all the way. I highly recommend the line, and will take another cruise with them in a heartbeat. Food–A.M.A.Z.I.N.G. And plentiful.

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I’m not going to recount day by day in great detail, just in recap. Barcelona is a gorgeous city I wish I’d had more time in. I saw some Gaudi, though not the Sagrada Familia Cathedral (I know, I know–insane!) As will become apparent as I recap, there’s only so much one can do in a day, timewise and energywise.

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This is where Picasso hung out with his pals.

Toulon’s hightlight was actually a side trip to the little seaside village of Cassis. During the summer, it hops with tourists of all kinds, but this is pre-season and we got to walk around without the mobs. What a beautiful little city!

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We went to a wine tasting (the area is known for its whites,) had coffee at a sidewalk cafe, ate candy, and then went on a scenic boat tour through the Calanques. Kind of like fjiords.

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Corsica was like nothing I anticipated. As I learned, it’s actually part of the Alps, and until about 1936, the people lived up in the mountains like any other alpine community. The sea brought bad things like invaders and illness, so they kept to the interior. I wish we’d gotten to see some of that way of life, but the coast was gorgeous.

 

 

 

Firenze (how can I ever think of it as Florence again??) how I wish I’d had more time! But this was about getting the flavor, not the whole mouthful. Just being there was so…immersive. I felt the antiquity, the culture. Of course, there is David, but there are also many more masterpieces the Medici family left to the city of Firenze, under the condition they not only stay in the city, but remain visible to all. (Seen below: Rape of the Sabine Women, Perseus, and Hercules.)

 

Pisa, I was told, is the leaning tower and nothing more. WRONG! I could have stayed there many hours. We did the obligatory, “Hold up the tower!” pic.

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Dad and Frankie D.

Rome–it’s nothing like New York City, and everything like it. Busy, busy, busy. Shopping. People of all nations everywhere you look. Yet ancient. Wow. There’s no way to quite describe it. You’ve seen my pics, along with a gazillion pics of the Coloseum, the Forum, etc. Instead, I’ll tell you about the last night Frank and I had, alone, in Rome. Magical, actually, but we said so many times, “I wish they were here!” We had dinner in (supposedly) the birthplace of fetuccini Alfredo, and spent a few hours just meandering the almost catacomb-like streets of shops and shops and shops. A good way to spend our last night in Italy.

 

 

It’s out of order, but I saved Villefranche for last because it was my favorite stop, and totally NOT on the itinerary. When we got to Monaco, the high winds wouldn’t allow us to dock on that side of the peninsula, so we went around back and docked outside of Villefranche, France. I could have spent a week in this little seaside village with tons of history, a few little shops, and a pebbled beach. THIS is my speed. I appreciate the big cities for their culture and importance, but give me “little” any day. It’s just as old, and feels way more “real.”

We had lunch in a great place overlooking the Mediterranean, saw the Old City, walked along the seaside, sat on the beach, and drank coffee sitting on a couch set up on the sea wall. I had Viennese coffee. Mmmm….It was a magical day. (Mark and Elaine did get to Monaco. It was an option I decided not to take, and am very glad.)

 

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Thus ends my European adventure. We had so much fun sightseeing and playing blackjack at the electronic tables during happy hour. Food and food and food. I hope we do this again, one day. Europe twice in a year is a bit much (first world problems, I know–poor me.) Spending time with Michael and Jon, Mark and Elaine, Mom and Dad was the best part of all.

And, of course, my Frankie D.

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