Meeting Elizabeth …

—From EF— I have definitely committed to a new project, heart and soul. I am writing a personal memoir, working title Elizabeth, Meet Elizabeth, and the through-line is “Who the hell am I?” It proceeds on two intertwined paths; a chronological narrative of events,...

Some Thouights about Craft . . .

—From CB— I’m in several Facebook writers’ groups. There tend to be vast scrawls of graffiti assailing others for idiocy or deeper crimes, and one wonders if masterpieces might emerge if only the writers applied their creativity to something other than converting a...

Ley-lines . . .

—From EF— Today was our ritual picnic at the oceanside, and my dented rattly self is somewhat soothed. I haven’t had such a long slog of depression for a while, and I’m doing my best to reach for my old trusty strategies. I don’t medicate; I’ve battled successfully...

Community . . .

—From CB— The sense of having “community”—what does that mean? As a child, it was neighborhood kids and then Boy Scouts. In high school I was a loner, but found tribe in theatre. If a school show wasn’t in rehearsal, I’d go down to the drama teacher Miss Miller’s room...

Gratitude . . .

—From EF— Between the toxic effluent from the Camp Fire and the toxic effluent from the Dumpster Fire I have been battling a difficult level of depression. The Sunday trip to the ocean helped, and coming home to an afternoon nap with purring cats aboard helped too....

War’s End???

—From CB— The air is full of smoke from forest fires 150 miles away. I’m reading Dickens and Barbara Kingsolver and the 17th Century Simplicissimus, with Orlando Furioso waiting in the wings. Trump is trumpeting, votes are being counted, and bombs are falling in...

On the Way Home . . .

  —From EF— We’re in limbo. As I write, it’s election day. We’re driving up the I-5, having spent the last week at a theatre conference in Arizona. Now we’re neither here nor there in any way. The outcome of the election is yet to be known. Our theatre friends...

A Polish Table . . .

—From CB— We hold a deep mystery in our lives: the Polish table. In 1970, we took our second trip to Europe. As in the year before, it was three months and two people on a Lambretta 150cc motor scooter, about 50 km/hr. with our camping gear on the back. From London...

First, Last . . .

—EF— Our Italian daughter sent two beautiful and poignant photos this weekend, both of the Mediterranean at Piombino. It’s the end of the swimming season, and her titles were “The penultimate swim,” and “I guess this was the last.” Swimming is very important to her...

My Birthday . . .

—From CB— This week was my birthday. I turned seventy-seven. A DJ announced a song by the Indigo Girls. I heard their name as the Evening Overalls. Senility has its perks. I was born in 1941, two months before Pearl Harbor, of which I was unaware, being politically...

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