Daniel and Lee
I’m crushing on Daniel Levy (Schitt's Creek). He is beautiful, sensitive, smart, funny, out and proud. And damn, Daniel reminds me of my friend Lee, both in looks and style. Only Lee was my best friend more than 40 years ago.
Bookshelf: Oct-Dec 2020
Happy 2021. Thank goodness! The last quarter was good for reading, though I ran out of new books as Christmas approached and had to wait for Santa. But a couple of rereads were worth it.
Bookshelf July-September 2020
We’re still living in quasi-quarantine, and my synapses don’t seem too sharp. Lesson learned: write notes about books as soon as I finish them. So what did I read?
RBG Reflections
Ruth Bader Ginsburg was born the year after my mother’s birth. She was of the generation of women on whose shoulders we stand today.
Quarantine Crazy
Remember when we were all binge-watching Tiger King and waiting for Covid-quarantine to be over before Mother’s Day?
The Plot Twist
Do you ever look back on your less-positive experiences and discover they set you on the path to something great or at least better? Hindsight is a gift for reflecting on closed doors and seeing the windows that opened instead. I’m beginning to see the plot twist more regularly.
Bookshelf: April – June 2020
These are the strangest of times, with no end in sight. Covid-19 quarantine. Explosive racial unrest and social justice marches (over-riding quarantines). Political division and discord in a presidential election year. In some ways, my reading reflects the times.
My Father, My Friend
Randomly, I came across a reference to "Jonathan Livingston Seagull." I searched out Neil Diamond singing “Be” on iTunes. Sure took me back, to the time Dad gave me that book. He knew I was different from other kids, struggling to fit in; the book was his surefire way to tell me it’s okay to be who we are, that loners can be leaders….that I would “be” who I would be.
The Color of His Skin
What is a nice, privileged white woman like me supposed to think, feel, write when police officers torture a man for eight minutes, hearing him scream until he dies?
Reflections on 60
I don’t feel 60. I don’t know what 60 is supposed to feel like, but how can I have been alive six decades? It sounds a bit old to me, though my definition of “old” has certainly changed as the hill got closer. That hill.