On Trembling in Time

Listened to a serious make-up speech on "physician-assisted suicide" today from a young African-American single Mom. Not only was it a good speech technically -- it also exuded thought, seriousness of purpose, and a wealth of experiences with life and death.

I enjoyed the speech -- but more than that, I enjoyed the humanity of the person delivering it -- and my own humanity in understanding the concepts and measuring them with the yardsticks of: faith, truth, compassion, and understanding. We are seemingly but poor creatures ultimately dependent on a much larger hand (God, god, time, karma, fate, what-have-you).

But whatever we are -- and wherever we stand -- we are human; and free; and good; and able to deal with our "present" if not our future. We are what we are.

Thanks!

All a person can do sometimes is just say "thanks." Thanks for my past failures, and successes. Thanks for my friends then, and now.  Thanks for all the love that has been lavished on me, and all that I have lavished on others.

Thanks for another day, another minute, another hour. Thanks for allowing me to speak my mind, and suffer the consequences for it. 

Thanks for being alive. 

Tosha -- Another Victory

I'm pleased enough right now to write one of those horrible overblown family Christmas letters featuring my daughter Tosha -- achieving in theatre, but now on a regional stage in Chicago.  Tosha is a wonderful person and a blooming artist -- with plenty of administrative skills to fall back on.

Her entry into the mid-level of Chicago theatre politics should bring her enough "name recognition" to parlay into a real sustainable career over the next few years.  In addition to that -- she just does not "settle" for less than the best -- what a testament to her self-honed aesthetics. 

Of course I am biased -- she is my daughter and I love her. But my bias does not have blinders -- I have seen the sweat, the work, the angst, the heartbreak and the triumph. And at least for now, all of them seem worth the opportunity (to risk everything and succeed or fail on a higher level). 

Still Sick But...Getting Better

This post will have nothing to do with "getting sick" or "being sick!"  It is all about being ready for the next step -- no matter where you are, or what you are doing.  The next step is always, by comparison, a kind of "getting better." 
Some things are always "getting better" but are never "good enough...!"

Being Sick

Being physically ill and still performing all my various duties at school, and after school, is not an easy matter. At one time in my youth I could continue to move by sheer focus of will and forgetting all obstacles. Not so now.

I need to drag my feverish body along -- pick it up -- and just keep myself playing, the game, of life, and death. My eyes are watering and I continue to move -- forward, every forward.  Trying always to do my best -- to achieve -- to help.  Trying...always. 

Dreamlog

I have a cold -- and I have DayQuil. And it appears that I am in a slightly hazy dream. It is warm outside -- nearly 80 degrees, and not quite right for November 18th -- but there it is. 

And this is my Dreamlog. What or Who am I dreaming of? Skirt sliding down over new tights/hose; a woman too pretty to be alone; all in black. With a cold, like mine.  I know her name but it is not for this blog -- taboo. 

Not Knowing the Game

As a small child I suffered mightily with a condition known as dyslexia.  I could not read, and I seemingly could not learn to read. All the little markings on the page either appeared fuzzy or cloudy to my eyes, or they made no sense at all to others when I tried to reproduce them by rote copying. My grade school teachers, mostly nuns, appeared to assume I was not trying hard enough and found numerous ways to punish me: dunce caps, sitting in the corner, keeping my hands on the front of my desk, going to the dreaded Vice-Principal's office, etc.  Life was hell -- every day, for me, in those horrible days.

Nuns sometimes tried to be "nice" and "patient" with me but soon gave up because of my total inability to concentrate  (ADD as well I fear). So I got in trouble; lots of trouble.  I got sent home; my parents had to come in; I got expelled. More than once.

My life with women was similar.  I have always been fascinated by women, and respectful of them (that was one lesson that took, probably in high school), and even slightly amazed by them. They thought differently -- in some areas of life (like sensually or even sexually) they were bolder, much bolder, than I was.

And I was incapable of really figuring them out -- making sense of them in my terms.
With some women (like the infamous Bertina) I was powerless to figure out the game -- so I just "played it straight" and said what I thought. And was misinterpreted, resisted, condemned -- for my stupid simplicity. But that was all I ever had -- simple truth. And it never, ever worked.