Three fictional characters and a jump off the deep end

3fictionalcharacters_imagesThe Caterpillar, Mary Lennox and Scarlett O’Hara: If you put these three fictional characters into a blender and hit “puree,” you’d get me. At least I think so anyway.

Being the book-lovin’ word-nerd that I am, I’ve ruminated on what three fictional characters I would select since I first saw the trend hit social media. Who would it be? Who would it be? I mean, I’ve read a lot of books. I’ve studied the ins and outs of so many characters, written plenty of analysis on the motivations of likable and out-of-this-world characters and blahbitty-blah-blah-blah, but I couldn’t think of anyone that was truly like me. Instead, my mind hovered around extremes like Patrick Bateman and Lucky Santangelo (nope – way too violent), Winnie the Pooh and the Giving Tree (nah, way too selfless and pure), maybe Ramona Quimby or The Perks of Being a Wallflower main character, Charlie (likable, but awkward)?? Then I thought I’d landed on two of the three: Veronica Lodge and Fern from Charlotte’s Web. I was pretty sure on these two, but being the erudite that I try to be, I dug deeper and really scrutinized what makes these characters who they are and then whether the hallmarks of their natures reflected my own.

Veronica’s dark eyes and hair, along with her fashion fetish jibe, but I hope not much else! She’s pretty stuck-up and her relationships with Betty and Archie are just funky. Fern’s love for her piglet, Wilbur, is pure and she’s strong-willed and sweet, but she’s a farm girl and our experiences really aren’t so similar. I mean, I like animals, but I can’t think of any other similarity. After I dismissed these two, I then thought of the Hatter from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland. In fact, I was sure his nonsense wit and his penchant for keeping the party going were similar to my own, but then another Carroll-created character came to mind who was a much better fit – the Caterpillar. Boom. One character down, but who were the others?

My mind swirled with all of the characters that I learned about from more than three decades of die-hard reading and two liberal arts degrees. Why was this so hard? Everyone else was just crankin’ ‘em out and posting away. WTH? So, in an effort to zero-in, I began filing through the female characters I admired, that I empathized with and that’s when Mary and Scarlett came to mind.

scarlettoharaMary, as in Mary Lennox, the young girl in The Secret Garden who transcends her personal set-backs to find happiness in an abandoned rose garden on the estate of her long-lost uncle. It takes some deep personal despair to get there, but Mary learns the power of hope and love and then spreads that positivity to those around her. Ultimately, she saves herself and her family by unveiling the power of love to those she sees struggling. I, like Mary, find sanctuary in nature and I’ve seen how changing your outlook to a hopeful one can change everything for the better.

A short-fuse, fierce pride and fortitude are the aspects of Scarlett O’Hara that I recognize in myself. I’ve also been accused of having a spoiled streak, so I suppose that’s another similarity. I love Gone With the Wind – the movie and the novel – and I’ve actually said the words, “I’ll think about that tomorrow,” when faced with a giant crappy blob of issues. I haven’t tried to give away my wedding ring or pined over my best friend’s spouse, but my own husband would probably say that I can turn icy if I’m crossed or trying to navigate my way through difficulty. When it comes to things I’m passionate about, I think I love hard and fight hard, similar to Katie Scarlett O’Hara from Tara.

Finally, I chose the Caterpillar from Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland because he’s a deep thinking loafer. The Caterpillar is a sour sage that asks Alice profound questions and then swiftly abandons the conversation and the mushroom. Maybe he’s a symbol of Alice’s consciousness or maybe he’s a wise snob, but he ponders deep thoughts over the smoke of his hookah. He just lazes atop the ‘shroom analyzing everything around him and then, quite remarkably, takes flight. Friends post simple entries on what three fictional characters they are and I recline on the end of my couch or hunch over a keyboard and dive off the deep end, tapping away, stream-of-consciousness style, pondering over the smoke of a cigarette, thinking, “You. Who are you?” Then when I’ve mused for a long while, I end up returning to the simple question that started it all.

So these are the three fictional characters I choose to represent me. Maybe they’re just who I long to be instead of a true reflection, but I do recognize the good and the bad in the Caterpillar, Mary and Scarlett and I can admit that I share those qualities, too. Interestingly, all of these characters transcend after their conflict. I like that idea. I hope that’s my fate too. If not, “well, fiddle dee dee;” I’ll go grow some wings.

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Posted by on September 26, 2016 in Uncategorized


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IMG_1951By Walt Whitman

Why, who makes much of a miracle?
As to me I know of nothing else but miracles,
Whether I walk the streets of Manhattan,
Or dart my sight over the roofs of houses toward the sky,
Or wade with naked feet along the beach just in the edge of the
Or stand under trees in the woods,
Or talk by day with any one I love, or sleep in the bed at night
with any one I love,
Or sit at table at dinner with the rest,
Or look at strangers opposite me riding in the car,
Or watch honey-bees busy around the hive of a summer
Or animals feeding in the fields,
Or birds, or the wonderfulness of insects in the air,
Or the wonderfulness of the sundown, or of stars shining so
quiet and bright,
Or the exquisite delicate thin curve of the new moon in spring;
These with the rest, one and all, are to me miracles,
The whole referring, yet each distinct and in its place.

To me every hour of the light and dark is a miracle,
Every cubic inch of space is a miracle,
Every square yard of the surface of the earth is spread with the
Every foot of the interior swarms with the same.

To me the sea is a continual miracle,
The fishes that swim—the rocks—the motion of the waves—the
ships with men in them,
What stranger miracles are there?

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Posted by on September 5, 2016 in Uncategorized


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Poetic nostalgia and daffodils

daffodils“I wandered lonely as a cloud…”

One of the most amazing things about Bob Gardner was that he could recite poetry by heart. Something would come to mind and he could rattle off a poem at the dinner table. As a burgeoning poet, I admired his knowledge in all things, but especially poetry and his ability to recall poems so easily. Now Bob’s gone, but today, the first line from Wordsworth’s “The Daffodils” just popped into my head. It brought me back to some fond memories of the man.

A couple of years ago, my parents gave me a book of English Romantic poets that had belonged to Bob. There was a bookmark left in the book. On the marked page was this poem, I’m assuming one of his favorites.

The Daffodils
By William Wordsworth

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in never-ending line
Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A Poet could not but be gay,
In such a jocund company:
I gazed—and gazed—but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

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Posted by on August 22, 2016 in Uncategorized


I’m part of a tapestry

"Tapestry" was released in 1971. That year it won a Grammy Award for Album of the Year and a Grammy Award for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance.

“Tapestry” was released in 1971. That year it won a Grammy for Album of the Year and a Grammy for Best Female Pop Vocal Performance.

Way back when, on a whim, I bought “Tapestry.” It wasn’t because I was a huge Carole King fan, I just knew that it was a classic. I was eager to explore.

Like pulling a special card from the tarot or reading a moving passage from a novel, I was struck. There were many messages in the album for me  — or at least that’s how I felt. I was young, experiencing many emotions, but the words were raw and they struck me. They spoke to me. On so many different levels. There was loss and love in the lyrics. Friendship and power. And it was a woman who was singing it all – that had written the words — a woman who seemed to have experienced them, like me. Although I was young, I was naïve and believed that these emotions happening to me were unique. That no one had felt them or their enormity before. I found solace in the discovery of these songs. I learned that what I felt was growing up. It was an awakening to see, or to hear, that women before had felt these same feelings, dealt with the anguish and joy, the revelry of beauty and youth, love and heartbreak.

Last night, many years later, a program on TV aired. I had it on in the background. My kids were playing in the living room and I was trying to reset the security questions on my iPhone. My attention was piqued when Carole King’s songs seeped from the living room and was swept back to that time long ago. Much has changed. I’m grown, with kids of my own, but I’m thankful. I’m thankful that King’s lyrics, her words, are recorded in time. That someone put them to music and recorded them. I’m thankful these songs came six years before my birth on a record called “Tapestry.” I’m thankful because I found them at the right time and they soothed me. They built my confidence and they made me realize that I am just one small part of a history of women that feel and express and share for the sake of art.

Words are my muse. I suppose they are because they represent the feelings that I long to explain and make sense of.

Tapestry. “Tapestry.” I get it.

Now, I need to find my Carole King CDs and add them to my iTunes.

Go here to see Ms. King do her thang.

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Posted by on December 31, 2015 in Uncategorized


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This poem is why I love poetry

I can see the alcoves of a cathedral even in this subpar lemon that was probably purchased at Walmart and transported thousands of miles from where it was grown to reside in my kitchen. Thanks, Pablo!

I can see the alcoves of a cathedral even in this subpar lemon that was probably purchased at Walmart and transported thousands of miles from where it was grown to reside in my kitchen. Thanks, Pablo!

The other night I grabbed a book off the shelf. It was Selected Poems of Pablo Neruda. I’ve been devouring the poems since as even though they’re translated, they remain rich, deep and beautiful. Neruda’s “A Lemon” exemplifies all the reasons I love poetry and display the poet’s prowess in both Spanish and English.

I can’t get the poem out of my head! I keep reading it. There were some lemons in a bowl on the kitchen counter. I cut one open and I thought about the awesome journey Neruda takes ruminating on the ordinary and finding something nearly holy in the process. I suppose a lemon is something miraculous after all. See what you think…

A Lemon

Out of lemon flowers
on the moonlight, love’s
lashed and insatiable
sodden with fragrance,
the lemon tree’s yellow
the lemons
move down
from the tree’s planetarium.

Delicate merchandize!
The harbors are big with it —
for the light and the
barbarous gold.
We open
the halves
of a miracle,
and a clotting of acids
into the starry
original juices,
irreducible, changeless,
so the freshness lives on
in a lemon,
in the sweet-smelling house of the rind,
the proportions, arcane and acerb.

Cutting the lemon
the knife
leaves a little
alcoves unguessed by the eye
that open acidulous glass
to the light; topazes
riding the droplets,
aromatic facades.

So, while the hand
holds the cut of the lemon,
half a world
on a trencher,
the gold of the universe
to your touch:
a cup yellow
with miracles,
a breast and a nipple
perfuming the earth;
a flashing made fruitage,
the diminutive fire of a planet.

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Posted by on September 2, 2015 in Uncategorized


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Tuning in

A snapshot of some of the CDs included in the Aug. 25, 2015 edition of 'Round Midnight Jazz.

A snapshot of some of the CDs included in the Aug. 25, 2015 edition of ‘Round Midnight Jazz.

Lately, my schedule is crazy and the few things that I want to do – those things that just make me tick – often get pushed to the back-burner. I try to make the time for myself, but work, family commitments, the lack of a babysitter that can swoop in – all of these often encroach on the quality “me time” I’m going for. My story is nothing new. But today, I tried to salvage the little tiny bit of me that gets joy out of spending a couple of hours in a studio, surrounded by music. Today, I pre-recorded my jazz show and now I’m sitting at my laptop six hours later, listening to myself on the radio at home. It’s surreal, but it’s like “me time” cubed. I’m diggin’ in! The kids are asleep; I’m listening to songs I love; I’ve got no interruptions and a full glass of wine. This. This makes me tick and I’m so happy that I actually took leave to create tonight’s show. It was worth it.

Glass o’ wine philosophy, while listening to jazz after a stressful day at work

A glass of wine,
a smoke,
some chill jazz tunes –
these are simple things,
but they relax my soul,
ground me.
I want to write
and think
and put to words
all of the complexities
of the day
with this.
And this
melts away what doesn’t matter
or maybe it burns
and then turns to ash.

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Posted by on August 26, 2015 in Uncategorized


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The beauty of Dorian Gray

This is the Dorian Gray from the 2009 film of the same name.

This is the Dorian Gray from the 2009 film of the same name.

There is much to learn about the macabre story of Dorian Gray and the gentleman’s enchanted portrait that changes with each sadistic act and shameful sin the man commits. Gray’s intoxicating beauty affords him leniency. No one images the cruelty he’s capable of because, after all, he has the face of a boy. One hundred and twenty-four years after this novel was first published, beauty still equates to godliness to many.

“He got up and locked both doors; at least he would be alone when he looked upon the mask of his shame. Then he drew the screen aside, and saw himself face to face. It was perfectly true. The portrait had altered….Was there some subtle affinity between the chemical atoms, that shaped themselves into form and color on the canvas, and the soul that was within him? Could it be that what that soul thought, they realized? — that what it dreamed, they made true? Or was there some other, more terrible reason? He shuddered and felt afraid, and going back to the couch, lay there, gazing at the picture in sickened horror.”

Through his title character, Dorian Gray, Oscar Wilde presents his reader with two potent questions: How much value do we place on beauty and what are we willing to excuse because of it? I have a feeling the answer to both questions is the same and that IS truly frightening.

This is a portrait of Franz Liszt by Henri Lehmann, but it dons the cover of my edition of The Portrait of Dorian Gray.

This is a portrait of Franz Liszt by Henri Lehmann, but it dons the cover of my edition of The Portrait of Dorian Gray.












This is the face of Dorian from the Showtime series, Penny Dreadful.

This is the face of Dorian from the Showtime series, Penny Dreadful.

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Posted by on June 17, 2015 in Uncategorized


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