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at the still point – happy thanksgiving
At the still point of the turning world. Neither flesh nor fleshless; Neither from nor towards; at the still point, there the dance is… T.S. Eliot, “Burnt Norton” Almost a decade ago, I enrolled in a college photography class. Not a bucket list kind of thing by most standards, but it was something I had been meaning to do for…
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Actors, Art, Children's Books, Gary Shteyngart, HBO, James Gandolfini, Maurice Sendak, Memoir, Soundtracks of our Lives, television, The Sopranos, Themes of Childhood, Where The Wild Things Are
thinking about james gandolfini ~ forever with the wild things
I’m watching The Sopranos. Again. This time I’m watching it with the man I love who loves it when I don’t tell him what’s going to happen next. Unthinkably, he’s never seen The Sopranos. The only non-book that ever occupied my bookshelves was the Sopranos DVD collection. Apropos that it sat there for years among some of the most compelling…
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9.11.2013, 9/11, Anything can Happen, Belfast, Billy Collins, Blogging, bombing, British Army, cancer, Diary, Dispatch from the Diaspora, Healing Field Tempe, Loss, Memoir, Memoir, Northern Ireland, Northern Ireland Culture, Ordinary Things, Peace, Poetry, Remembering September 11th, Seamus Heaney, September 11, The Peace Process, The Troubles, The Troubles, Themes of Childhood, Writers
Dear Igor . . . the last name on the list
Time after time, I have stood on the virtual doorsteps of people in the middle of lives parallel to my own, beautifully blindsided by unexpected coincidences and exchanges of truths that may not otherwise have seen the light of day. In my virtual home, it is often easy to pull up a chair and trade ideas and opinions with people…
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and What I Wore, Art, Awesome Women, Carly Simon, Cat Stevens, Culture of breast cancer, Facebook, Memoir, Memoir, Mother Daughter Relationship, Nora Ephron, Soundtracks of our Lives, Theater, Writers
worn out
The other day, I went shopping in Guadalajara where I found a blouse I’ve been looking for – for almost 40 years. I suppose an explanation is in order. It begins – as many stories do – with an encounter with something by Nora Ephron. In the summer of 2013, my best friend and I went to see the enchanting…