December 31, 2010
Posted also on Bilerico.
December 26, 2010
Berger creates a conversation between a son and the dead mother who reappears to him as he stands atop an aqueduct in Lisbon.
The mother says, “Let a few things be repaired. A few is a lot. One thing repaired changes a thousand others.” The son replies, “So?” And out flows a maternal speech:
"The dog down there is on too short a chain. Change it, lengthen it. Then he’ll be able to reach the shade, and he’ll lie down and he’ll stop barking. And the silence will remind the mother she wanted a canary in a cage in the kitchen. And when the canary sings, she’ll do more ironing. And the father’s shoulders in a freshly ironed shirt will ache less when he goes to work. And so when he comes home he’ll sometimes joke, like he used to, with his teenage daughter. And the daughter will change her mind and decide, just this once, to bring her lover home one evening. And on another evening, the father will propose to the young man that they go fishing together… Who in the wide world knows? Just lengthen the chain."
In this season of peace, may you lengthen a dog’s chain. And then see what happens.
This is why we keep trying, doing small things. Ripples in the pond. Breezes in the atmosphere. Hope in small things.
Thanks to Andrew Sullivan.
December 17, 2010
In my mostly part-time work, I have two or three projects to do a month. This fall I've had two or three projects a week in November and December. Of course, December is the biggest month of the year, project-wise. But I've been scrambling for seven weeks straight. It's not the stuff of posts: giving campaigns, special events, pageantry, even teaching a couple of adult classes at their request.
That adult class was interesting, though, because they asked for a repeat after the first one. They had asked the preteen class to tell them what they want from their parents to help them succeed in this world. The kids responded, I made a sort of "Glee-"like presentation out of it, and gave the adults questions to discuss with the kids. It seems they weren't done when class was over, and they asked me to do it all again so they could keep talking. We gave them the DVD of the presentation, and this time I added a few things I could not say while kids are present. They were hungry to hear it all.
This reminded me of when my kids were much younger and how we and all our friends were desperate for guidance on raising children. Many of us don't have extended family nearby to talk things over. Whenever a children's counselor presented for our group, there were never enough chairs. And yet no one talked if they were having trouble.
It wasn't until Ben sent us reeling* that we were transparent with the struggles we were having. I talked a little bit about that with the adults, and several approached me after class to thank me for being honest. If we don't talk about our difficulties, how are we going to get help? Silence perpetrates the illusion that we are alone in our struggles, when in fact just about everyone is making it up as we go along.
I haven't posted an update about Ben in a long time. He's doing just great; he's been on the high honor roll for four semesters. He apprenticed briefly at our auto mechanic's business and he's working part-time for Little Caesar's Pizza. He is happy, at peace, and in control of his future. He is not a standard student—as he says, he needs time, not help, to do his work—yet he wants to work in software, so he is considering an associate's degree at our community college after he graduates in the spring. This is the same boy who two years ago I feared would never graduate high school. He remains my miracle boy.
Well! It seems I did have something to say, after all. It just wasn't the philosophical subjects I have constantly going through my head. I'll save that for a time when I have more mental energy. Meanwhile, I hope each of you is enjoying the holiday season in whatever way suits you best.
This is a time when many feel lonely. Even if you're one of them—especially if you're one of them—reach out to one individual in a personal way to help them make it through not quite so lonely. Just one. Be gracious, even when others are not. It's how we can shape the world.
*If you're not familiar with that story, click on the "Amazing Grace" link in the right-hand column.
December 8, 2010
December 6, 2010
December 1, 2010
November 25, 2010
“Can I chop onions too?”
“Sure. Here’s how you hold the knife. Hold the onion like this.”
My nephew’s eyes began to tear. He squinted and shook his head.
“What’s going on? Why do my eyes hurt?”
My brother saw this as a learning moment.
“That’s what happens whenever you hold a knife.”
“Know what makes it go away? Reading.”
Update: Okay, okay, you guys. He didn't stop there. It was funnier to leave off the immediate correction and truthful explanation my brother offered. My nephew is quite used to his dad's antics and was already onto him.
November 17, 2010
I am dismayed at all the online hysterics over the immature behavior of Sarah Palin’s children. For the record, I am no fan of Sarah Palin and I don’t understand how anyone could support her bid for attention, much less a role in government.
That said, I have to speak as a parent: the idea that we have control over what our children say and do when we are not present is a complete illusion. We do what we can to inculcate the proper morals and concomitant behavior, but children eventually figure out that they don’t really have to do what we say. It is our hope that the realization is delayed until they reach a level of maturity that leads to good choices. It is an uneven road to that time, and some choices are better than others.
Kids still don’t understand the impact of the Internet, and they will write things online that they say in private conversation. And yes, they will say stupid things that are not okay. Who among us has not? Thank God I didn’t have the Internet to permanently catalogue my mistakes when I was a kid. And either way, I know as a former Language Arts teacher that poor spelling is no indicator of intelligence or ethics, cringe-inducing as it might be.
Palin’s children did not grow up in the urban landscape of big-city politics. They do not have the political experience or understanding that, say, Bush’s children would have had. Alaska is populated by smart and independent people who say what they think, in my experience. The idea that one must be circumspect is not a natural conclusion in an environment in which survival depends more on community and outdoor skills than political savvy.
Lay off the kids. They’re not changing the political landscape; we are, by the choices we make.
November 9, 2010
October 31, 2010
October 29, 2010
I love that she is guarding her independence, but it comes at a cost. The ravages of a body that is betraying her cognitive and physical strength have also taken our friendship. With forgiveness and patience I forged a new relationship with my mom for about twenty-five years, getting as close as she would allow. I worked very hard to maintain it.
It is the passing of that friendship that I mourn today. I grieve too for the loss of her independence, something I pray I face with grace (and some feistiness as well). I still love her, I still forgive her, but it won’t be the same. It was great while it lasted and I will cherish the memories.
October 20, 2010
This is a close-up of the building which won the owner's request for "the world's most beautiful building." (Sorry, I can't remember its name.)
October 16, 2010
Ze Frank is difficult to describe, but he is someone you need to get to know. Brilliant and funny, he creates a nexus for connection that produces works of humanity, humor, and music from contributors all over the world. By himself he's pretty special too.
I can't embed the video headlined here, so you need to follow this link to witness the re-enactment of an actual spam letter from Africa, requesting "assistance" with a large sum of money. After you see that video, bookmark his webpage. Hours upon hours of delight await you.
October 14, 2010
The following comment appears on the YouTube page:
Look at your comment. Back to mine. Back to yours NOW BACK TO MINE. Sadly, it isn't mine. But if you stopped trolling and started posting legitimate crap it could LOOK like mine. Look down, back up, where are you? You're scrolling through comments, finding the ones that your comment could look like. Back at mine, what is it? It's a highly effective counter-troll. Look again, MY COMMENT IS NOW DIAMONDS.
Anything is possible when you think before you comment or post.
I'm on a computer.
October 9, 2010
October 4, 2010
I was asked to write an opinion piece to be posted on their website (with the video? I don't know). You can read the essay on Bilerico.
October 2, 2010
October 1, 2010
I went to Chicago last week to visit with an Aussie blogger who was coming through on his world tour. Brian and I had too short a time, but it was wonderful. While you wait for my tidbit and pitiful phonecam shots, check out his reports on his travels.
This morning Fox News (I know!) taped a debate between me and the executive director of the American Family Association - Indiana. My mouth was so dry my tongue wouldn't move against my teeth. Dear Lord. I guess I did okay.
I'll be back to explain it all.
September 28, 2010
September 26, 2010
Update: I gained permission from the author to post it on Bilerico. It's up.
September 24, 2010
September 22, 2010
September 17, 2010
September 16, 2010
September 13, 2010
September 7, 2010
September 6, 2010
September 3, 2010
August 28, 2010
August 24, 2010
August 23, 2010
August 18, 2010
My mother retired this year at age 89 as a travel agent. My parents decorate their house with souvenirs from all over the world. For years we had to hide this Balinese mask from the kids, who were terrified of it. They still don't like it.
August 14, 2010
August 9, 2010
I wrote an article about Proposition 8 and why I support its repeal. There are a lot of people who are wondering if they can do the same and be true to their faith. Please forward a link if you know someone like that. You can find it here.
August 5, 2010
July 28, 2010
This past Monday the National Organization for Marriage held a rally on the steps of the Indiana Statehouse. I joined several hundred counter-protesters in a successful bid to seriously outnumber rally attendees. Well, someone took my picture and posted it on the NOM Tour Tracker website. From there, that picture has gone viral. Wow. Even Joe.My.God picked it up and posted it. I'm overwhelmed at the response.
I've written my newbie report of the event for Bilerico. I'll update when it's posted.
Photo courtesy of Phyllis Lozano, Courage Campaign
July 21, 2010
Now I have a new sign of privilege: my car. I had no idea the impression it would give others. I was so excited to own exactly the car I wanted for the first time in my life. I still love to get in it every single time. But three times now I've been cursed for the crime of driving a convertible. The first time, I drove by a man standing on a corner downtown. As I passed he called out, "Asshole!" Who, me? Why? It took me a few minutes to realize what had transpired. It really made me think. The next two occasions of unintelligible remarks yet unmistakable intent told me this was a trend.
Huh. I'm being seen as a member of the elite, an entitled conspicuous consumer. I, who remembers those years when I put cardboard in my shoes to hide the holes in the soles; who drank powdered milk and wore hand-me-downs; who qualified for food stamps one unemployed summer; who didn't own a car until I'd been teaching for a year and a half.
I want to stop and correct these people's misapprehensions, but it doesn't really matter. I ask myself: how many times have I been guilty of the same assumptions? What crimes have I mentally accused people of doing simply based on appearances?
It's yet another wake-up call for me to not leap to conclusions, one of my own greatest failings. I need patience, pondering, and peaceful resolutions. It is a privilege to be able to drive the car I want. I can handle the heckling with grace.
July 17, 2010
July 14, 2010
It's time somebody spoke up about the correct forms of the verb "lead." This is a lovely word with very few quirks, but so many people misspell the past tense form that I'm having to say something. When teaching irregular verbs to young teens, I would use the following sentences to help out:
Today I _____.
Yesterday I _____.
I have _____.
When we use the verb "lead" (pronounced LEED) in spoken form, we use all its forms correctly: lead, led, have led. But in writing, I see it repeatedly written in the past tense as "lead." When "lead" is pronounced LED, it is a noun. So:
Today I lead.
Yesterday I led.
I have led.
Please pass it on.
July 9, 2010
July 9, 2010 3:55 PM
I remember that place. Did Ben just show you how to use the phone cam?
July 9, 2010 3:57 PM
July 2, 2010
June 29, 2010
June 24, 2010
Very different subjects, but each of them tells the story of coming to terms with the essence of self. I highly recommend both of them and would love to hear from anyone who's also read them.
June 12, 2010
June 10, 2010
"I already asked Abe this question and he gave me his own individual answer. I would like to know what I can pray for, for you (not for someone else, but for you).
"Thank you for asking, Kevin.
I would like prayers for WISDOM: the right words, the right actions in relating to all members of my family. For PATIENCE under stress: a silent tongue. For the ability to show my LOVE for Abe, Sheba and Ben in a way that they know it to be love. For STRENGTH to not hide from the fear, hurt and anxiety and work through it instead. For PEACE and COMFORT that God is in control and His good will come of this.
I have many good friends praying for us, and it lifts my heart to know this. God bless you."
June 8, 2010
We ate at Casa’s, his favorite restaurant outside of Indy. This time we managed to meet the owner, who sat down with us and told us that they’re planning to expand from their small chain of restaurants in Fort Wayne to a couple more in Indy. I think they’ll make it, too, in spite of the economy. Their places are packed every night of the week.
The next morning we went to Abe’s favorite breakfast place, the Liberty Diner. It is owned and managed by a Greek couple from New York. They have built the quintessential East Coast diner and plunked it in Fort Wayne. The interior décor has a human-sized Statue of Liberty by the front door. American flags drape various parts of the diner, and large black-and-white photos of Manhattan hang high over one row of booths. It is next to Bambi’s Exotic Lounge and across the street from a truck stop. And it is packed with locals who want a great breakfast any time of day or really good Greek food. The owners—better dressed than most of the patrons—drop by your table to make sure everything is good.
While I highly recommend both restaurants, the top place to go remains DeBrand Chocolatier. They make some of the finest chocolates I’ve ever eaten, and they ship! I asked about summer shipments, and I was told their freight company uses special ice packaging to insure fresh chocolates wherever they ship. If you have a chocolate connoisseur you wish to impress, this is the stuff to send. Warning: Not Safe For Budgets.
Abe and I had a lovely time. It was Date Night times three! He was so sweet and planned all of our ventures. I just went along for a wonderful time. Let’s say we both had a wonderful time.
I had to slip out early Sunday morning to head for Indy again, but not to my own church. I made arrangements with a friend to meet her at St. Andrew Presbyterian Church for worship and a meeting afterward. “Jane” is from Columbus and has been instrumental in helping me in my efforts to have my church become open and affirming. She has pointed me to resources, events and authors more than any other person I know. Jane was bringing her church group to St. Andrew, so I joined them.
St. Andrew* is the first and only Presbyterian church in Indiana to join the More Light Presbyterian network of churches. The mission statement of MLP says “Following the risen Christ, and seeking to make the Church a true community of hospitality, the mission of More Light Presbyterians is to work for the full participation of lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender people of faith in the life, ministry and witness of the Presbyterian Church (USA).” It is a strong statement to make in this denomination, and some churches who are truly open and affirming still have difficulty adding this label to their names.
Jane and her group of ten or so fellow supporters and I met with the two pastors of St. Andrew after worship. We asked about the process that led them to this important—and to some, risky—step of affirmation.
Although for each church it is different, this small congregation had already been “More Light” in practice for some time. The session—that is, the ruling group of elders—held a three-hour meeting to discuss and vote on the idea. Three hours, and it was done! Of course, it was years in the making.
Something struck me when I was driving home that afternoon: for the straight members of that congregation, declaring the church More Light changed nothing. All would go on as before. For its gay members and those seeking a church and gay children growing up in this church, everything changed. They are affirmed not only in general but in writing and in action. This is powerful stuff and it costs the straight members of the church nothing but understanding. I will be taking this idea to my church group. We are years away from this step, which frankly I considered an impossibility in my congregation. I don’t see it that way anymore.
I hope to partner our church with St. Andrew in LGBT outreach and advocacy. I have some thinking, talking and reading to do about this. We continue to move toward the Light.
*I have yet to find out how a Presbyterian church comes to call itself Saint Anything. Sounds Catholic, doesn't it?
June 4, 2010
Actually, it isn't what I crave. I've never had a White Castle burger until last night.
Our church has facilities that permit us to house people in times of need (showers, room for folding cots, etc.). We offer hospitality to homeless families one week a month, one of a number of churches that have combined for mission in that field. Last night, the Red Cross Emergency Shelter team enacted a mock drill to prepare us for response to a large number of homeless families due to an emergency. (Our "emergency" was an apartment fire that displaced fifty people.)
It went well. I managed to contain a "member of the press" to the public areas and keep him busy and informed without violating the privacy of our residents. This was our second mock drill, and we still have a few bugs to work out, but our team of about fifty volunteers could respond now and do a good job, I think.
Our reward at the end of the drill was dinner. And dinner was nothing but White Castle hamburgers. They're okay, I suppose. The Red Cross serves food that is donated by local businesses, so we can't complain. But even after I removed just about all those little onions, they haunted me the rest of the evening. I took four Tums over the course of the night.
Maybe next time Chick-fil-A will donate dinner.
May 29, 2010
Abe was too tired, so my neighbor and party bud Dee joined me Friday night downtown. She brought a co-worker along and we cruised with the top down in the warm night air. As is my custom—honest!—I got rock star parking smack in front of the entrance to the club. Life is good.
Polka Boy was playing at the Rathskellar Biergarten, which was built over a hundred years ago and modeled after German clubs of the time. We arrived early enough to barely catch a seat at one of the picnic tables spread in front of the bandshell on the outdoor patio. Six men well into their cups allowed us to sit with them. They made awkward attempts at conversation, but they were friendly enough. They invited us to join them at a “titty bar” later. Somehow we found the fortitude to decline.
But then the band began to play. Polka Boy is a fourteen-man polka band, complete with tuba, three accordions and lots more brass (two of the three meanings apply here). This band is awesome. They played polkas, of course: Polish, Italian, and German. They may have slid in something Russian; we weren’t sure. But they took those accordions into new realms and played Tom Jones, Irish drinking songs, zydeco, Johnny Cash, rock and roll, Franki Valli, and the national anthem. Yes. And all of it was just great. The crowd was singing along with every song.
We left early, but the last song before their break was funk from the Average White Band. While you play this video, picture three accordions backing it up, swaying and playing and rocking out. That, my friends, is Polka Boy. They’ll be back July 9.
May 16, 2010
Our friend “Don” is a whiz with tools and we were thrilled with our prize. Don fixed the kitchen light, repaired a broken drawer, and came into the living room to remove the tambour doors from our entertainment unit.
We have a five-piece entertainment unit, a very nice set from my days of working for a furniture chain. The center unit isn’t wide enough for large TVs, and those doors took another inch of width. Back in those days, flatscreen TVs were only for the wealthy. But I could afford a really nice 32” CRT TV to replace our dead one. The problem was that this new Sony would fit only if we removed the tambour doors on the unit. We never used those sliding doors anyway, so that was okay with us. But how to get them out?
The way the unit was built, the only way to remove those doors would be to break them and pull them out of the track groove in which they sat. Don’s plan was to use his jigsaw to cut them in half horizontally and lift them out.
We were discussing the game plan when Ben wandered in to listen. He had an idea.
“Mom Mom Mom! You want to break the doors, right?”
“You don’t care what happens to the doors, right?”
“I could kick the doors and break them.”
“Yeah!” Ben demonstrated by turning sideways and placing his heel against the middle of the tambour door. “See? One or two kicks and it will give way.”
“Wait a minute. There are glass doors above this space and flanking on both sides. Those doors could shatter if you don’t hit it just right.”
Ben spent a few minutes explaining how, with his well-placed foot, this would not happen. Don was just about speechless.
“You’re actually considering this?” he asked incredulously.
“If he does it just right, he could do it without breaking the glass.”
“You’ve got more guts than I have.”
I asked Ben to demonstrate his placement once again. I finally agreed, but he was to wear something to protect his foot from splintered wood.
He returned with a snow boot on his right foot. We stood back while Ben took his stance, practiced once very slowly, and then POW POW CHOP CHOP CHOP—two kicks and three punches with his fists—and those doors were sufficiently broken to pry out of their tracks with ease. The unit never moved and the glass doors didn't even rattle.
Don cleaned up the doors while shaking his head. Ben grinned and went back to playing computer games.
That night I told Sheba and her friends how the new TV came to be in its rightful place.
“I’d put Ben up against any piece of furniture in the house. I feel quite safe.”
“I dunno. I’ve got a sofa I think can take him,” quipped a teenager.
I related this tale to a number of my friends over the next week. One mom put it in a way I like to remember.
“You let him kick in your entertainment center? YOU are the World’s. Best. Mom.”
May 11, 2010
May 7, 2010
May 6, 2010
I was talking with “Father Tony” Adams the other day about his recent South Florida Gay News interview with Mark King, owner/operator of the blog "My Fabulous Disease.” The disease so described is HIV, for which Mark tested positive in 1985. (Check out Mark’s website, which is filled with information and links on HIV/AIDS with an unusual take: humor and gratitude. He pulls it off, too, with intelligent and hilarious commentary. It is refreshingly honest.)
Anyway. Tony repeated something very interesting from his interview with Mark that struck me and stayed in my head. Mark was talking about his years doing drugs and said, “My mind in a neutral state wants drugs.”
The mind in neutral: this is when there is nothing pulling on you but yourself, no outside influences until you pursue them. Where does it go? My mind today is in a totally different state than even a couple of years ago, but left to my own devices—as is often the case, much to my delight—I want to read. I want to know more. There isn’t enough time in the day when I’m reading.
The desire to know more sounds so, I don’t know, noble, doesn’t it? But it can create problems if you can’t get out of neutral. I don’t hear anyone or anything when I’m reading; it’s angered plenty of people who thought I was ignoring them. And my reading material vacillates from primarily nonfiction—science and religion—to trashy nonsense—no, I’m not telling. My mind in neutral can successfully keep me from interacting with my environment with astonishing ease, leaving my family and friends a distant second if I’m not vigilant.
Is the mind in neutral always a negative drive? I’m not certain. Sometimes I’ll put down the books and computer and go looking for a new experience, like the parks I discovered in my city last year. (But that was due to fellow bloggers’ writing, so I guess I’m back to square one.)
What about you? No one’s around, you have no immediate needs to meet, your mind goes into neutral. What do you do?
Image from somewhere on TED.com.
Update: Look what I found.
May 1, 2010
"Strelitzia" is two years old today. Two years since I took the hint that my comments were bigger than the posts on which I felt I must share my wisdom. I can't believe it's been only two years; it feels like forever, since so much has happened in the interim.
What's next? Who knows. I'm so glad for your company. Have a cupcake but watch the crumbs.
April 30, 2010
Me: "Did you get any sleep at all?"
Me: "What did you do all night?"
Ben: "Avoided getting penises drawn on my face."
Me (after I recovered from laughter): "Did anyone sleep?"
Ben: "One guy did. He covered his face, so they drew it on his hand."
Do girls ever do stuff like this? Not in my experience.
April 26, 2010
I was honestly glad to be able to be there, to help in a way that was needed. Trouble is, my parents aren’t quite ready for that help; at least Mom isn’t. She’s 89 years old and she retired from work as a travel agent the week I was there. She begrudged the idea that anyone felt I was needed there, but she didn’t let on for the first week, acting as though everything was just great. Then she exploded with resentment and it took all the wind out of me.
I think I understand her panic at having to face less independence. It would shake my world too. I know that I won’t fully understand until it hits me right between the eyes.
Meanwhile, my stepfather very much wants my help and is comforted knowing I’m willing to participate in their planning for the future. This is a fine line I walk.
This is happening at a time when a lot is going on elsewhere. Thank heaven my home life is just great, with the normal ebb and flow of things to fix and joys to celebrate. I need to find how this new responsibility will fit in with all the other aspects of my life.
My modus operandi is to grab moments to myself for respite. It surprised me that the “moments” I needed lasted about two weeks. This is not depression—I know whereof I speak on that. It is a quiet time of processing, of limiting intake. But I know to give it time to sort itself out, and now I’m returning with the energy to face all of life once again. I have several topics about which to write. I hope to get to each of them soon.
The sun is out, and I emerge into the light once again.
April 18, 2010
This article is the result of that meeting.
April 14, 2010
The New York Times has an explanation for people like me. I'm not alone!
April 11, 2010
Update: Part Two is up.
April 7, 2010
April 7, 2010 6:22 PM
A big Woot box came. What is it
April 7, 2010 6:24 PM
Sheba's Christmas present. Pls put it in basement under the stairs. Thx. Sorry nothing exciting.
April 7, 2010 6:24 PM
Update: I returned home eleven days later. The box was on the sofa.
March 31, 2010
My parents are not doing well. My stepdad had a stroke, Mom is mentally fading, and my sister is crumbling under the burden of caring for them. I will be going down to ask the hard questions about future care, living wills, and their ability to handle the fading years ahead. My stepfather is getting therapy with a reasonably good prognosis; we're going to have to wrestle the car keys from Mom's tight grasp; and we've got to find new avenues for care and transportation, since my sister obviously cannot do this alone.
Abe and Sheba will be heading out to the west coast for a few days. That means Ben will be alone. During spring break. Temptation, anyone? We are going to have to trust him to set his own boundaries. He's eighteen. Deep breath.
So my posting will be light as I garner all the facts and inform all the siblings (eight, in this blended family). At least there will be sunlight and heat.
March 28, 2010
You never know when it will hit: the muse for writing. I was in the car listening to NPR when a passing remark—I can't even tell you what it was—prompted me down a trail of thought about starting over. Memories stirred about a number of times I've begun anew. You can read about it here.
March 24, 2010
March 23, 2010
My brother brought two of his five children to visit over their spring break. Kids #3 and #4 are seven and eight years old, the perfect age for our children's museum. The Indianapolis Children's Museum is the largest one in the world and frankly one of the few things well worth the visit. We've got a nice city but not a lot of WOW.
One item that is definitely WOW is the Chihuly installation in the core of the spiraling ramp of the museum. Dale Chihuly is at the top of the food chain in glass art, and this is his largest work in the world. These pictures do not do it justice.
The column of blown glass rises through four floors and contains 3200 pieces, each of which is a work of art. "Fireworks of Glass" is mounted on an armature of steel spikes, and each blown piece simply rests on a spike.
At the bottom of the tower of glass, four panels of clear acrylic are covered in 1600 more glass works of art, making a kaleidoscope viewed from underneath.
My pitiful photography can't show you the stunning blend of color and light. Can you tell that art glass is my favorite medium?
Last week Sheba and I and her friend went to see Great Big Sea at a local club. They are a Newfoundland folk band and a whole lot more fun than that sounds. Their sound has Celtic roots and the whole evening was one big party. (You can hear "When I'm Up" and "Ordinary Day" on my playlist in the side column.) What's more, there was no smoking, I didn't need ear plugs, and drinks were $4. I would have felt like I was back in college except for the fact that Sheba was probably the youngest one there. A woman next to me had also come with her daughter. I commented that I was probably the oldest person in attendance.
She waved in dismissal. "Oh, no. You and I have to be about the same age."
Sophie found a new toy in Ben's room. See the fun ball in her mouth?
This is what it really is. Every time she drops it the house resonates. I made Ben take it away.