Read up a bit on Ralph Waldo Emerson, an American essayist of the 19th century, and you may run across this: “The greatest delight the fields and woods minister is the suggestion of an occult relation between man and the vegetable. I am not alone and unacknowledged. They nod to me and I to them.” Continue reading “A Woman & the Vegetable – Family Vol. 2”
Some people have such difficulty expressing their periodic chasms of vengeful depression, they take to the Internet looking for narratives they might adopt for their own. Now and then, reading through these portrayals of sub-flat-line despair, they shout, “That’s fantastic!”
This does not suggest any enthusiasm – not even for recovery. Part of depression is being willing to take on anything – even the misery of others – in an effort to fill the void with something other than deep, dull pain. Continue reading “Spinning Our Plates”
Walt Kelly was the author and artist behind the Pogo comic strip, which ran from 1948 to 1975 – and which blasted American behavior and attitude related to everything from littering to politics (sometimes interchangeably).
In my composition classes, I taught that if you are interested in thinking outside the box – if you strive to stretch or break the rules – you must first master the box. It’s my simplistic notion based on observations that some of the most innovative musicians were first classically (or at least formally) trained. Mastery can be the foundation from which one can reach for more. Continue reading “Standing on Rounded Stones”
Yes, I cried. I cried for my sisters, my mother, my grandmother, my aunts, my cousins. I cried for the little girls who, on the morning of November 8, 2016, thought they might run for president some day. Continue reading ““We will go on, be brave …””
Today – Nov. 8, 2016 – is the first day that my three daughters are all able to vote in a presidential election – and they have done so: two by absentee ballot, one in person (with her husband). For me, that is history enough, but for them there is the added twist that they are able to cast their ballots for a woman who stands a solid chance of winning. All my years of hoping they understand that nothing is out of their reach because of their gender, are profoundly reinforced. Continue reading “The Unbearable Promise of Being”
What I really wanted to be when I was growing up was a famous novelist – at least as famous as Jules Verne, and maybe even as good. Now I’m resigned to having once visited an event, probably as a seven- or eight-year-old, that was also visited (possibly on the same day, perhaps at the same time) by Kurt Vonnegut, who was then within a few years of becoming what I really wanted to become. Continue reading “My World’s Fair”