Joy. . .

—From EF— When I planned to take the periodic solo day we each do about once a month, I wasn’t paying attention to the calendar, it’s just that February first was the first day that Bicentennial Campground was available and I grabbed it. I love that place,...

Joan. . .

—From CB— This week, our friend Joan Schirle died. Elizabeth read it on Facebook. She’d had a long bout with colon cancer. We had no idea. She wasn’t a frequent friend—she lives two hundred miles to the north—but we stayed often at her place when up there, drank a...

Empathy. . .

—From EF— I’m getting ready to perform Dessie. It’s somewhere between 1975 and 1984, and I’m changing clothes in a little ladies’ room in a community college or a high school or a conference center or a church basement or a prison. I’m...

Begetting. . .

—From CB— I’m mindful of those long-ago days of church when the minister would begin his sermon with “Our text for today is…” and then stumble on through twenty minutes of restful homilies that preceded the jingle of the collection plate. But he normally chose...

It Ain’t Over. . .

—From EF— I jumped the tracks hooking up with Conrad Bishop, and I didn’t know what I was doing. He wasn’t like others I’d fallen for, and I knew he had a dark surreal streak that I might never understand. Our first theatre work together was a...

The Toilet Seat. . .

—From CB— Normally, when encountering a Facebook post starting with “Men!” I skim past. I don’t really want to deny anyone’s actualities; nor do I want to defend any indefensible demographic; nor do I want to feel personally superior to others of my own gender. That’s...

Letting Go. . .

—From EF— I don’t have any new resolutions for 2022. My imagination is not teeming with new frontiers to conquer, I’m OK with just trying to get more crap off my desk. I don’t have a new show to write and rehearse and perform, because we’re not...

A Messiah. . .

—From CB— Here’s my biweekly post on DamnedFool.com. I normally refrain from posting short stories on the Web, as that counts as publication and precludes magazines from publishing it. It’s one of my favorites, but who’s going to publish something like this?...

Gullible. . .

—From EF— The ocean is our standing Sunday date. We pack up a picnic basket at noon and go spend a couple of hours with the waves before coming back renewed. The picnic menu alternates week by week between sushi with slices of ahi and what we now call “chicken...

Christmas Tunes. . .

—From CB— A few days ago, we were in our longtime favorite North Beach coffee house. It normally has tolerable music playing over the system, but now it was Christmas season, when the familiar stuff is inescapable. I’m not normally one who bleats “Put the Christ back...