Monday music, 11.16.09
Yesterday I took my youngest to basketball practice. Due to a fortuitous “who-has-the-keys-to-the-gym” kerfuffle, we ended up at an outside court, playing in the warm Indian summer afternoon. During the 5-on-5, my baby caught a pass, spun and dropped the shot. Watching her glowing face, the pull of the clenched fist and the “yes,” shouted as she raced back for defense, I saw the passion that marks a contender. The girls played hard, and yet the venue painted the practice in playground colors, the drills and exercises more fun for the novelty of the day. My older used the wide open area to work out her dance routines for tonight’s cl

Monday music, 11.9.09
In the 11th hour of the 11th day during the 11th month — the guns fell silent and war ended forever…… Don’t you wish that had happened — that subsequent generations would never know the pain, the throb and the overwhelming divisiveness of war. With lots of help, we’ve put together a Veteran’s Day program at the elementary school to honor the many who have served our country. It’s important for the kids to see the WWII vets, the Vietnam vets, all those including those currently serving. These moments link them to history. This year I’ve centered the program on a lovely children’s book by Margot Th

Monday music, 11.2.09
Have you had the sheer and utter pleasure of reading Douglas Adams’ glorious Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy? He plays plot, syntax and phrasing with as much joy and wit as Bruce Hornsby and Thelonious Monk. The subsequent four books in the “trilogy,” The Restaurant at the End of the Universe; Life, the Universe and Everything; So Long and Thanks for all the Fish and Mostly Harmless aren’t so much a continuation of a linear reading experience as a ramble through a world both hilarious and absorbing. What could possibly equal the peak experience of my firs

Monday music, 10.26.09
Last night I dreamed Scarlett O’Hara was dancing to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller.” As she shimmied past, doing the moonwalk, she flung that big leghorn hat, you know the one with the forest green ribbons, into my arms. I whirled around with it in my arms, began tapping my heels together, whispering “home….” Now we could argue that I’m in dire need of therapy or that I’ve imbibed way too much popular culture over the course of my life…. Palestinian poet, Mahmoud Darwish, has been called a “man of peace in a place of war.” He understood the primal longing that home evokes in the most transient

Monday music, 10.19.09
What do you remember about being sick as a kid? For me, it’s my Daddy propping his foot up on the couch where I was wrapped in an afghan, strumming his guitar and singing old Hank Williams’ songs. My favorites were “Half as Much,” and “Kawliga.” And he pushed fruit — oranges, apples, grapefruit. Vitamin C could heal anything! My mom stressed cleanliness — she was OCD way before it was hip. As soon as you could lift your head from the pillow, she popped you in the shower, “you’ll feel better if you’re clean.” Then she always laid out something soft and vibrantly colored to wear, “youR