ABC…

—From EF— I’ve had a very sweet Mother’s Day. A long lazy conversation with daughter and then with son, which covers all the bases available in real time. In my mind, a sweet hug with the mother who birthed me and said good-bye, and another to the...

Weeding It Out. . .

—From CB— I generally spend at least half an hour a day practicing genocide.  I refer, of course, to weeding the garden. Some green things just don’t belong. It’s not that I HATE weeds. True, I get pissed at the intransigence of stinky weed, sticky weed, thorny weed,...

Hail, Columbia. . .

—From EF— I’m not in South Carolina any more. I just finished a memoir draft revision of the chapter that chronicled 1966-68, our two years in Columbia, South Carolina, and celebrated again in memory the day when we crossed the state line en route to Milwaukee....

Comedy . . .

—From CB— I’m doing the layout for an anthology of our comedies, to be published in the fall. Three are in the commedia dell’arte tradition, two are solo shows, one a surreal satire, and one a piece that’s hard to justify its being called a comedy. Which leads me to...

Pronoia. . .

—From EF— original sin vs. original blessing paranoia vs pronoia evil by nature vs decent by nature The litany of human awfulness has been getting to me. I haven’t been quite to the point of cutting off Facebook and the news, but close. Close. It’s been...

Work. . .

—From CB— I get tired, which I guess is normal at 79. But what’s tending to tire me out these days is the past. I’ve been sorting and filing tons of the remnants of a life: scripts, photos, reviews, grant applications, correspondence, etc. etc. etc.—knowing that when...

Music . . .

—From EF— I am having a difficult time with an old lover: music. We had children, lots of them, and they got lost. Now they’re turning up and asking why I didn’t keep them, feed them, give them a life. I’m torn between joy and the pain of not knowing...

Reality…

—From CB— Each week has its challenge with reality. Sometimes it’s profound, sometimes trivial, though the trivial always has the potential of swelling into a hippopotamus. This week, the trivial stayed trivial. We were in our usual Sunday place at the ocean. It was...

San Gregorio Sands

—From EF— We first came to California in 1963 after three years at Northwestern, and moving cross-country to a new life changed everything for me. The North Bay climate returned me to the happily embodied life I’d had when I was a pre-school proto-pagan playing in the...

A Didactic Spasm…

—From CB— What do I mean if I say octopus? The referent is fairly clear—a slimy sinuous thing rumored to be intelligent, and you might just ask, “So what about it?” But if I say love, that’s not so simple. You have to sort through a plethora of relationships you’ve...