Diversity in Writing
Eastern (NY) Time
To ensure we represent our community of readers, thoughtful writers strive to create diverse characters. This usually means demographic heterogeneity: age, race, ethnicity, religion, gender, sexual orientation, etc. Including characters from a variety of backgrounds creates interesting and inclusive stories.
However, diversity has more layers. These are elements of experience that impact our decision-making, the relationships we form, the inner wounds we carry, and, in general, how we see the world.
On October 17, I’m giving a talk on these additional domains of diversity. You are welcome to join me. Let me know below if you’d like to receive the link.
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The Fall Equinox: Harvest, reflection, transformation.
Fall Equinox
I’m a horrible gardener. But look what Fall has brought. #growifyouwantto
Recipes, and Mom: A lunch holiday.
Yes, today is National Love Your Lunch Day, September 19. Does anyone NOT love lunch? (Bonus: A recipe!)
Yes, today is National Love Your Lunch Day, September 19. Does anyone NOT love lunch?
I wish I’d made this. It’s a stock photo, but doesn’t it make you want to start cooking?
My lunch, at this point in my life, is largely whatever is in the refrigerator. I’m not proud of that fact, but it’s true. I also don’t eat lunch very often, usually only when I will be out of the house for the day working. Consequently, I had to think about a different time in my life when lunch was a regular part of my day: childhood.
My mom was a caterer, and cooking was her passion. One of her favorite things to make for lunch was Croque Monsieur. I imagine you are thinking this is a pretty fancy lunch for a kid, and I suppose it was. But for me, it was a yummy lunch lovingly made by my mom.
I haven’t eaten it in a long time. But since it’s a national celebration, I’m going to make it today. It’s so easy!
Spread two slices of your favorite (white) bread with a béchamel sauce. (Don’t panic. It is a simple sauce.)
Lay slices of ham and a generous amount of cheese—Gouda is my favorite, but use whatever works for you—Gruyère or Swiss are also good choices.
Top with the remaining slice of bread. Add more cheese to the top of the sandwich, then sprinkle with Parmesan.
Bake at 400 degrees just until the cheese melts. For added flavor, toast it under your broiler until bubbly and golden.
Sometimes, you just have to move on.
For years, my partner and I have tried to grow fruits and veggies. This year, we planted onions, chives, sweet potatoes, lettuce (2 types), sage, and cilantro. We also have a cherry tree and an apple tree. Below is our bounty. Tasty, but scarce.
Over the years, we've tried lots of things. The results have been similar. Enough is enough. We have heard our ancestors' pleas.
We give up. So much for food self-sufficiency.
We will continue to support local CSA’s.
It’s my life.
Some years ago, I dreamed of a different life. I remember saying to myself, “I want a life where I sit outside, with a cup of tea and a piece of freshly baked bread.” That scene represented the peace and serenity I craved. The beauty that I longed for in my world .
As I leisurely sat eating breakfast with my partner this morning, it dawned on me that I was IN that scene. Okay, it was coffee. And I was looking out my window at my garden, not sitting in it. But this is the life I imagined. I’m here, filled with gratitude.
Overwhelm can overwhelm you. Be a human BEING.
My own non-artistic rendition of the BTS symbol.
At the end of a recent concert, my current rockstar crush, Jungkook, a lead singer in BTS, cried. He tried to stop, wiping his eyes, shaking his head, etc., but he couldn’t. Later, he said it was because he was sad. But I know that cry. It’s the battle cry of the overwhelmed.
Who can blame him? They’ve been touring since April, and their world tour continues. Jungkook and the other BTS members give their all at every performance. It is clear they love what they do, but I can only imagine the toll it takes to perform with your heart and soul night after night. It has to be exhausting.
Seeing Jungkook so vulnerable and determined to keep going reminded me of how I’m affected by overwhelm. Exhausted but with a long to-do list, and feeling like everyone wants a piece of me. Don’t get me wrong, I’m not a rockstar, and I don’t compare what they deal with to my ordinary life, but work is work, and sometimes when we aren’t paying attention, we lose ourselves in the daily grind.
My wish for myself, Jungkook, and the rest of us facing a never-ending to-do list is that we remember to take care of our bodies and souls. Get enough rest. Do something fun. Do something soothing. Stay hydrated. Nap. Eat yummy good food. And remember, as someone recently told me, it’s okay to be a human BEING, not just a human DOING.
Losing Vincent
…When doves cry…
I’m heartbroken.
I just learned that Vincent, a beloved friend of mine and a man who was closer to me than family, died suddenly, alone at his home in Florida. He was planning to move to Delaware and was busy dealing with all the things, so I hadn’t spoken to him in a couple of months. He died shortly after we last spoke.
Vincent was an entertainment reporter in Albany, New York, when I met him through a mutual Prince friend. We connected immediately and had many, many great adventures together. We also had probably hundreds of long phone calls about Life. Love. Family. Disappointment. And big decisions. For my friend, a big decision was often along the lines of “Which concert ticket should I buy because if I were a responsible man, I’d only buy one.”😆
Long stretches of time often passed before we connected, with lots of texts and voicemails in between. But we were there for each other. Without exception.
It feels hard to breathe. I love him dearly, and I know for a fact he loved me. There is now another hole in my being that cannot be refilled.
Rest in peace, Vincent. I hope you found your rock-and-roll, funk-and-soul heaven.
On the anniversary of his birth. #itwasalwayslove
I wrote this post for the first time in 2016, shortly after Prince died. It’s still my story. I still feel every word. And I still miss him.
It was always love.
***********
I'm a writer. There has always been something cathartic in telling a story. So in the midst of incredible sadness I am sharing my story with you.
My partner says that she went to the movies with a friend one day to see whatever show happened to be playing and ended up seeing Purple Rain, a movie that changed her forever. From that moment on she was obsessed--still is--and thanks Prince for much of the joy she's had in her life.
My path was not as direct. He had to touch my life three times before I listened.
1979
Thank you for a funky time, call me up...
On my way to high school driving the first of two cars given to me by my father, the song I Wanna Be Your Lover came on. The music was okay, but the lyrics made my head spin. Chock full of double entendres (I wanna be the only one to make you come...running), I couldn't get it out of my head for days. But trying to balance my perfectionist compulsion with wanting to fit in with my peers had turned high school into a three year long hurricane for me. I had a hard enough time holding on to my shit--I couldn't add one more thing to my burden.
1984
Somebody please tell me what the hell is wrong
The second time I became aware of Prince was when Purple Rain came out. I was newly married and in an unfamiliar place with no friends. I don't have memory of going to or being in the theater (my memory often fails me when it comes to very emotional moments), but I remember buying a beta max copy of the movie as soon as it came out. I coveted that fat short rectangular box (I still have it), but for reasons I can't explain, I never watched it.
The third time, as they say, was the charm.
1987
In my darkest hour, you can be my bliss
I took a job two hours away from my home and my husband and lived with my mother. I had a great time. I loved my job, had some adventures with my mom (like driving 45 minutes to buy a pizza that boasted cheese UNDER the sauce, not over it), and spent time with my sister and brother and their families. Moreover, every other weekend I honeymooned with my husband. Life moved along pretty smoothly.
Except at night. I started having nightmares. At first they came infrequently, and I barely remembered them. As time went on they grew more frequent and more horrifying. Eventually I had bad dreams every night. There seemed to be two themes--black roses and elevators. Black rose dreams woke me up crying. Elevator dreams were worse.
I know now that I was reliving sexual abuse I'd experienced as a child. I was in the same room, largely unchanged--the purple walls I'd begged for, music and academic awards (evidence of my hyper-vigilent perfection), and the bed. The bed.
Any time I was alone with my thoughts I thought about dying. What death would feel like. All the years of my nephews and nieces lives that I'd miss. Pieces of my nightmares started to come to me during the day. I searched continually for distractions, trying to save myself. One day I saw an ad in the newspaper about an upcoming Prince concert. I remembered his movie and that song, and how they made me feel. I really wanted to go, but not alone. My sister told me her husband was a big fan (her, not so much) and that he'd probably go with me if I had my heart set. He did.
October 1988
Do you want him, or do you want me?
We had tickets in the Nosebleed Section because we'd gotten them so late, but it didn't matter. The entire arena was filled by the presence of the little, ethereally beautiful man on the stage. I was captivated--couldn't take my eyes off of him. But the music transformed me. He sang of love and sensuality and peace and God and sex. His voice resonated, reverberated throughout my body. I sometimes make a joke, saying if he'd asked me that night for all of my worldly possessions I would have given them to him. But it was the truth.
The next day I went to every record store I could find and bought every tape Prince had ever released. I drove around for hours listening to his music. He didn't become "the soundtrack of my life". He became my reason to keep living.
1991
I want to jump for joy and thank him I'm not alone
I'd gotten a bigger and better job and moved back with my husband. While stalking a record store (my new hobby), I came across Prince's official fan magazine, Controversy. Not only was it heaven on the page with big, color, never before seenpictures of him, but it had a pen pal section. Suddenly, I wasn't alone. I'd found my tribe--men and women who experienced Prince the way I did. Miraculously, the first person I connected with became my partner. I like to say Prince gave her to me.
Present day
Can't begin to understand how I feel about you, everything I want to do I can't do without you
My life is filled with good friends who I connect with over songs and youtube clips, through marriages and divorce, through children and grandchildren, over the mountains that life put in front of our best efforts and under the bridges that we've fallen from. When we're happy, we listen to his music and watch his movies. When we're sad, we do the same. Since his passing, we cling to each other and assure ourselves we'll get through this, and that we'll find joy again.
I've seen Prince in concert over one hundred times. I have every song he's released, and sometimes multiple versions thereof. My partner and I celebrate his milestones--birthdays, awards, performances. Our annual Super Bowl parties celebrate his 2007 award-winning appearance. Many of our milestones are commemorated with concerts that hold special meaning. There is not one room in our home in which he's not evident, either in fact or by influence. (We're still trying to figure out how to put the Shower Poster in the bathroom.)
My friends and I are asking questions of ourselves and each other. Where do we go from here? Who will we be, if not Prince Fans? How will it feel to not look forward to his next album, the next concert, the next TV appearance?
The only answer is that his music is a part of us. It's in our cells and are the songs in the background of everything. Our experiences with him and because of him live on.
Getting his autograph in NYC and almost fainting because we thought he'd levitated, a tiny angel dressed in white.
Nearly being "rear-ended" by him in MPLS because he was driving too fast and we were going too slow.
Hearing gunshot and fearing for our lives as we left Glam Slam, his former club.
Flying to England for concerts and spending a sleepless night at the only after show I've attended.
Going to his store in MPLS so many times the manager told his staff "Play whatever videos they want to see".
Grieving with him, from a distance, when he lost his child.
Meeting our pen pals. (LOVE YOU ALL)
Standing outside at 2am in line for a show, with some of the craziest and friendliest people we've ever met.
Never say the words "They're gone"
The world is off its axis. I already miss him. My heart aches, and in quiet moments it's hard to breathe. I'm not ready to watch all of the tributes. I can't even listen to his songs without overwhelming sadness. But I'm ready, finally, to say a few things to him.
Dearest Prince,
I am ever grateful for the beautiful ways you've touched (saved) my life and for all of the people that are in it because of you. I'm thankful for your music which fuels my soul.
I've been blessed to have shared the planet with you. There was no way you could have known, but it was always love.
Peanut butter memories
Today was a long day. Back-to-back meetings, tons of work…By dinner time, I was done. I had no energy left to cook. PB&J won the contest for the least amount of prep and clean-up.
While making our sandwiches, memories consumed me. Not that peanut butter was a common meal growing up. My mom loved to cook.
But it was my father’s go-to snack.
My dad wasn't a nice person. I won’t bore you with the details; suffice to say, he had a mean, violent streak. He was also a textbook narcissist. For him, it meant treating me like his servant. When I was a young teen, I was responsible for making his nighttime snack on demand.
When he wanted PB&J, I subtly exacted revenge. Too much peanut butter and too little jelly, which was more unbalanced over time. Eventually, it was so bad he told me to stop making him “choke sandwiches”.
I did. But my revenge had been sweeter than that grape jelly.