Realities. . .

—From CB— It’s no secret that we live in a culture of multiple realities. That’s been part of life on Earth for at least a couple thousand years, and it’s almost impossible not to be multiple people oneself, depending on whom you’re talking to and why. And there are...

Night Sounds. . .

—From EF— We treated ourselves to a night at Salt Point State Park, one of our favorite retreats, and I planned far enough ahead to get a reservation at Site #7. (It’s the best one and is usually booked at least three months in advance.) Set way back in the...

Editing. . .

—From CB— For me, a new experience of the printed page. I’ve spent the last two weeks editing. The first volume of Elizabeth’s three-part memoir will appear after the first of the year. It’ll cover the time from her first howl in 1940 to our forming The Independent...

Openings. . .

—From EF— I think something is starting to jiggle loose in my mind. Maybe it’s because of the piano. I took a solo day (as each of us does about once a month) to Salt Point State Park and stayed overnight. On the way back, I stopped at Portuguese Beach, put on...

Kindness. . .

—From CB— I would like to be kind. I don’t think I’m cruel, not often hurtful, sometimes sardonic or cutting, rarely ad hominem. But kindness is much more than absence of cruelty. It involves reaching out, sensing what’s felt and trying to ease it or at least...

Conception. . .

—From EF—   I’m close to the end of my current first draft of the memoir, which appears to have declared itself to be a three-part opus. Too many events have happened in eighty-one years to be crammed into one volume. This first section climaxes with the...

Unique Contradictions…

—From CB— I have a friend who’s an artist. He does wonderful abstract drawings and paintings, but also some monumentally brilliant funny stuff. Some years ago, he did a very wise thing: he split his identity. The abstracts are billed under his own name. The...

Piano. . .

 —From EF—   I grew up with a baby grand piano. When I was little, my mother took lessons and practiced sometimes, but I have no memory at all of ever hearing her just play the piano. When I was about five, the piano teacher was giving her a home lesson, and I chirped...

The Fool Comes Knocking…

—From the Fool— Fool here. Long time I haven’t posted here, being as I had the urge to better myself. You’re never as much of a fool as you could be. So I took some time off and hung out on Facebook a lot. Which is where you get the really expert fools. Learn from the...

Hidden Branches. . .

—From EF— I was a hidden branch of my family tree until three years ago, and my joy at finding the sunlight was immense. I was greeted in the open by both sides of my original family and I know what that feels like. This week, I was able to return the favor. My...