funny how

not funny ha ha ha ha ha

but yes funny odd and mysterious

the things one remembers or forgets

how green it was there

or how the drinking fountains kept running and running


no on/off faucet

or then whether it was

a cafe or a bar

where we sat and talked

she with her court and entourage

I, alone

off Franklin square

on K street

she gave me her medallion


I always wondered

and still wonder

if it was she who sent that note

a year later backstage

at Antony and Cleopatra

telling how she loved my voice

and signing herself only



8 December 2016

When I was younger, I enjoyed camping, whether in the mountains or the desert. I believe I would also enjoy camping at the beach, but never experienced much of that. Setting up a tent beside the ocean was something I always dreamed about, but somehow we never went there. It was always either the mountains or the desert, whether with the boy scouts or with the family.

No matter. I loved it. Getting out in the fresh air, where the stars shone magically bright, and we cooked food either over an open fire, or on a gas cookstove, or even in a camper or trailer.

A trailer, or camper on the back of a truck, seemed the height of luxury – almost decadent compared with sleeping on the ground, in the open air, or under the cover of a tent.

Then, many years went by when I hardly ever even went to the mountains or desert, let alone camp there.

Now, as I grow older, I dream again of returning to the wide open spaces. Camping under the stars.

Maybe even in a trailer, or truck camper, those decadent laps of rough luxury, or more simply, in a tent.

Cooking food under the open sky, and hoping it does not rain.

Definitely with a car. Yes.



1 December 2016

Someone – I think more than one person, probably several – keeps coming into our house and pouring water into our house plants. I believe they do it because they think the plants are dying of thirst, and so they – whether sister, brother, nephew, niece, inlaw or step – are killing our plants by drowning them, because apparently they think they are dying of thirst. Even the maids who come once every two weeks – pour more water into the poor potted plants.

We have now lost two plants to drowning. The latest one of them – number three, a beautiful orchid that began to wither two weeks ago – is now so bad it smells like an open sewer, festering with water and organic slime. I have had to pull it out of its pot and hope it will air out before it dies from super-hydration.

Another one, a lovely baby rose bush, died last week. That was when I first began to notice there is just too much water in all of these plants.

Following my mother’s instructions, I water them once a week, and yet, it always seems someone else has beaten me to the punch.

Maybe it is a poltergeist. Hmmm. I hope not. Or, maybe .  .   .  it’s Mom. She is getting rather forgetful these days .  .   .     .

Well, anyway, to whom it may concern: stop watering our house plants! You are killing them! I know you mean well, but you are paving the road to hell with your good intentions, and furthermore, it ain’t even your home that you are peeing on.

If you want to water the yard, okay. I am grateful for that, since it is harder and harder for me to get around without running short of breath. But leave the indoor plants alone, please. Please. Please!