I Don't Know Why...

But I am infinitely fascinated by

the buds of Angel Trumpets.

When I first looked at this one,

I thought is was so bat-like.

I love my new camera.

Just thought you should know.

Happy Saturday!

Full Moon Last Saturday

The Beau got me a sweet zoom lens for Christmas.

I hustled myself up to the Mississippi River

for moonrise on Saturday. What a payoff!!

The Beau did REALLY well this Christmas!!

Quit Buggin' Me...

Playing with my new camera and macro lens.

You can see the grains of pollen. Makes me want to sneeze.

Once Upon A Time

A can't-lose proposition in 1962 Broadway terms: a musical, with music and lyrics by the team of Adams/Strouse - they'd already given the world Bye-Bye, Birdie and would later create Annie - and book by Mel Brooks and starring Ray Bolger. Title: All American

It was a disaster, running for only 80 performances. (Sondheim broke that record, with Anyone Can Whistle lasting only 9 performances. Carrie, the Musical is my all-time flop champion, closing after 5 shows...although it really should have closed at intermission of its first performance...but I digress...)

Surviving All American are a couple lovely tunes, including one that has unexpectedly become, ahem, my signature song. It's a sad, wistful song of longing and regret - lost love and missed chances for romance and such. This song is "Once Upon A Time".

I first heard this song on Mandy Patinkin's eponymous album, sung tenderly and without pretense. (Shocking for Mandy...) Again, I degress...

I liked the song. It stayed with me. The tune is very straight-forward and textbook in form (AABA). It stayed with me because it is lovely. Then I discovered that the most wonderful piano player in my life - Tom at Good Friends - knew the tune...and we started doing this song most Sundays at their sing-a-long.

Move forward a couple years, and it had become part of our standard repertoire. A handsome man with whom I was smitten commented on how me adored the song, but found the lyrics to be too painful for the loveliness of the tune.

I like a challenge.

So, to please this handsome man, with whom I had not a snowball's chance in Hell, I went home that night and wrote a new set of lyrics.

More reassuring, winsome and hopeful. I like them quite a bit. They are all I sing now. People who know the song from its origins will ask me where this alternate set of lyrics came from and I usually lie and say some recording somewhere.

I wrote them.

Now, I had been thinking about this for a while and thought it would be great to post to Music Monday as spearheaded by the lovely Soccer Mom in Denial. I went in search of a video to post for all to hear - and found my way to Bobby Darrin's heart-wrenching rendition.

Knowing a little bit about his life and troubled love for Sandra Dee, it makes the performance even more moving. Here is that video:

The handsome man liked the new lyrics, but I never had the heart to tell him that I wrote them for him.

No. That's not quite accurate.

He wasn't worth telling. Sure, I wrote them with him in mind. But these were for me.

So, here's my version. Sorry, no recording. You'll have to make a trip to New Orleans and stay over some Sunday - make sure that your flight is not too early on Monday morning. That won't be pretty after the time we have the evening before. And you will have heard this:

Once upon a time,

It seemed the world was turning grey.

Love was what I hoped for,

But never what would be.

And yet my once upon a times

Always set me free

Once upon a time,

A man with stardust in his eyes

Showed there is hope

And also sweet romance...

And now my once upon a time

Is my second chance.

Can this be?

Does it all seem real?

Aren't we always taught

That we should guard the way we feel?

Yet someday soon, I hope I can reveal...

My heart is yours.

Now upon this time,

The world is sweeter than we dreamed.

Everything we have
Is better than before.

And now my once upon a time...

Is my forever more.

Wordless Wednesday

Voting Day

It was a Magritte sky this morning,

everything silhouetted against the sunrise.

We biked the 8 blocks to our polling place,

reviewed the ballot one last time and then

took our place in line to vote.

It took 28 minutes.

I wish everyone could have that kind of

swift democratic experience today.

For those who don't, be patient.

This election is absurdly important.

So, don't get frustrated and walk away.

This is Your Right to Vote.

And no one can take that away from you.

Oh, and if you don't vote,

you don't get to bitch later.

Coincidentally, our polling place -

a local elementary charter school -

had a Rene Magritte quote on the wall:

“Art evokes the mystery without

which the world would not exist.”

Playing with the GreebleMonkey!

The lovely and talented Aimee over at GreebleMonkey is at it again with her monthly GreeblePix Contest. Here is my entry into the fray:

Lily Light

Thanks for stopping by!

Transitions, Challenges and Such

So much going on, so little time to put it all together in posts - so, forgive me if I empty the gullet here in one post. It's all got to come out.

**********************************

I lost a friend last week.

Not someone I'd call at 3 in the morning, crying on his shoulder, but a long-time theatre friend, a Mardi Gras friend, a coffee-with-whatever-bunch-showed-up-that-morning friend - and that rare person who was far-more outrageous than I could ever dream of being.

You always knew when Steve was in the room.

Or 3 blocks away.

Steve's bicycle was festooned with odd (read that as borderline NC-17) ornaments and geegaws, garlands and bells - and when he spotted you, you were greeted with a "Yoohooooooo!!" in a voice that could pierce the thickest New England fog.

Steve was a wonderful dancer, a strong singer and one of the most alive people i think I've ever met. One time at a party, he pulled me aside and said, "Come on, we're gonna put on a show." He pulled me upstairs where he threw a wig and scarf at me - having already selected his own impromptu ensemble - and then jumped out on the balcony overlooking the courtyard where our friends were partying, and started belting out "Let Me Entertain You." I followed up with "Nowadays" from Chicago.

Now that was a party.

Steve was also a great costume designer - here's the photo I snapped on him in 2004. Outrageous to the end, Steve finally succumbed to leukemia after a more than 2 year battle.

I will miss him - and New Orleans is a little less beautiful and delightful for his passing.

***********************************

Yesterday, I learned of another passing: my friend Coleen Salley, storyteller, author and bon vivant extraordinaire. Coleen was the Distinguished Professor of Children's Literature at the University of New Orleans, wrote many children's books and taught future generations all about the joy of reading and sharing books. My dear friend and fellow book-lover Susan Larson writes a wonderful tribute to her here.

"I don't want children to read just to perfect their reading. I want them to love books for the joy of it."

Coleen Salley

Coleen smoked and drank for most of her life until doctors told her to (um, strongly recommended thatshe out to) shape up. I don't blush at much, but she swore like a sailor and saw and did more in her life than most of us can imagine. I was fortunate to live in her neighborhood, a stone's throw from St. Louis Cathedral, and get invited to many of Coleen's infamous parties - Christmas soirees before the Caroling in Jackson Square - author parties with Hudson Talbot and others I cannot even recall, due to that fourth Brandy Mild Punch.

New Orleans is a helluva lot less fabulous with Coleen's passing. She's telling wicked and wonderful stories to the angels now.

**********************************************

Life is too short to be angry all the time or to read bad books - or to tell other people what a bad book is. Coleen's passing only more dramatically points to last week's Banned Books Week.

I had every intention of posting a long diatribe on the virtues of reading banned/challenged books, and the evils of censorship, and blah blah blah. Truth is, the real world intruded. So, do your homework, check out sites like this and talk to other folks about why you think certain books aren't right for YOUR kids - but support people's choice to read what they want.

NOTE: during my research on banned books, I stumbled across this blog site. I've posted about books and some of the (perhaps) misguided challenges to them, but I had never encountered anyone who was against one of my all-time favorites, Guess How Much I Love You. The rationale? It bothered her that the parent always has to out-do the child. Really? That bothers you? Did you really read the book? What say you, parents?

*********************************

Other than that, I had planned on writing an Elegy to the Letter G. Thanks to Governor Palin, the final G - which until now been on life support, but still doing moderately OK - slipped away quietly on Thursday evening, never to heard from again.

Folks, please do your part. Don't let final G be forgotten. Let us not become a nation that is merely runnin', walkin', hopin' and wishin'...but please, remember the G.

Dreaming is not just a thing of the past.

************************************

One final thought: I am willing to bet that Sarah Palin was “that girl” in High School - not exactly pretty or smart, but aware enough to see where the power lay. And just charming or shrewd enough to know how to play people to do things for her, to subtly bully people out of the picture - making others’ lives a living Hell for crossing her.

If a real poll could have been taken of her peers, I would bet they’d vote her Most Feared.What training. Now, she’s just a small town bully who never left high school, never learned anything that wasn’t advantageous to her assent, no critical thinking skills and no awareness of the world around her. A brainless bully.

A dangerous bully. A bully who aspires to Cheney-like bullying. And if that doesn't scare you, I doubt little will.

Thank you, John McCain, for Sarah Palin - the gift that keeps on giving to the Barack Obama Campaign.

Peace.

A Belated Singular Saturday: Please - I cannot put up with 4 or 8 more years of

NU - KYA -LER

Look Away - No, REALLY...Look Away NOW!

Shiny things to distract the masses.

Fuzzy words, repeated ad nasuem.

Hypocritical cries of sexism.

Wimper, wimper..."Deference"...Wimper, wimper.

Blatant cronyism.

Are you kidding me?

This woman is nothing more than a diversion from the ISSUES.

Pay her no mind - It kills me that MSM is dedicating time to analyzing her wardrobe, dress size, eyewear model, et al.

Are you freaking kidding me? Is she suddenly Paris Hilton's BFF?

The last time I checked, John McCain - the lying sack of shit bastard - was running for President. NOT the the ill-informed, dangerous harpy at his side.

Sorry.

Focus, people. It's his proposed policies and his historical voting that are under review here, not what designer she's wearing. Yes, she too is a hateful, lying sharlatan - a purveyor of patent medicines, a quack - but this is NOT her campaign for President.

Look at what McCain has done and NOT done. Get informed about his lies and misrepresentations.

Get Angry.

There is so little time left. Get Angry. Stay Angry.

Like the saying goes, "If you aren't angry, you aren't paying attention."

Please, folks. Pay Attention.

Our future depends on it.

Must Read This Now

OK, I am not so good at expressing myself politically, but thankfully, there are a lot of people out there who can.

I won't paste the letter from Frank Schaeffer as posted at Huffington Post, but please check out this link: An Open Letter to All Republicans From a Former Religious Right Activist

Read it. Send it to people you know.

It's brilliant, eloquent and exquisitely written.

And given the life this man has led, even more powerful.

There is so much crap flying around out there about all the Presidential candidates - it is our responsibility to get informed, stay informed and vote for what is best for the future of our country.

And in a closing fit of snarkiness, I give you this:

Pay no attention to the crazy moose-lady behind the curtain.

Like Respect, "Deference" Must Be...

Earned.

This is my first time playing along with Singular Saturday - to see what others are saying with an essential economy of words, please zip on over to Jenn In Holland - Something to Say.

Playing with GreebleMonkey, again...

So, Aimee is at it once again -

it's time for the greeblepix contest -

and here's my entry for this month!

Enjoy!

Click on the photo to see the reflection in the droplet.

Tough to tell this close up,

but those are bougainvillea blossoms.

And thanks for stopping by!

Come Hell or High Water...

In 1971, Follies opened on Broadway - a hugely ambitious show, revolving around the reunion of a follies cast (akin to Ziegfeld) for one last concert before their old theatre is leveled and turned into a parking lot.

One of the best numbers in the whole show - the big showstopper, if ever - is "I'm Still Here." Over the years, this song has been sung by the likes of Yvonne DeCarlo, Nancy Walker, Carol Burnett, Shirley MacLaine and Ann Miller - it's like winning the theatre fag lottery!

The song is replete with historical and cultural references and has been adapted time and again...and now I've stuck my hand into it to muddy the waters further. I hope I haven't done too much damage to one of my favorites.

So, with all apologies to Stephen Sondheim (along with my utmost admiration):

Good times and bum times,

We've seen them all, and by gosh...

We're Still Here.

Mardi Gras, one day...

Next day it's FEMA and Bush.

And we're here...

We made it through Katrina & Rita too,

Gustav and Ike both really blew.

We got through all of last year,

And we're here.

We've gotten through, "Hey, buddy! Why don'tchya just move away?"

Gee, that sure helps a heap.

Or better yet, "Why are you rebuilding anyway?"

Oh, Senator, go take a leap!

Fresh paint on one home,

One home stands vacant and bare.

But we're here.

One day, it's State Farm,

Next day, we dance without care...

And we're here.

We've had the best, and seen the worst,

Stayed through Katrina - the levees burst.

Come Hell or high water, and we're here...

Lord knows, at least we've been there...

And we're here.

We're still here...

Yes, we're here...

Plan-nicking, and other thoughts

OK. Deep breath, Ken.

Too much to do. Too much to wrap my brain around right now. Too little focus.

Must be time to blog.

Plan-nicking is the word I have given to this in-limbo time, as we wait and watch and obsess and prepare and email and post and bite our nails and make lists and check them thrice.

There are some things that you cannot do before evacuating in advance of a tropical system such as Gustav. Life still goes on, you have to eat, you have to (try to) sleep, you have to go to work and prepare that part of your life too. You still have to get through the day.

It ain't always easy.

Add to that, worrying over the political future of this country (Biden so rocked last night).

Stir in post-Olympics withdrawal - what does is say about how classy Dara Torres is that she asked the officials to wait to start her heat because one of her competitor's swimsuit broke and she was trying to change in time to compete? How about the comraderie and sportsmanship of the lead marathon runners sharing water bottles? Hygiene aside, that was a breath of fresh air.

OK, to vent a little more about the Olympics...If I - suddenly and for no specific reason - was placed in charge of the USOC, I would add a deal-breaker requirement for anyone wishing to represent the USA at future Olympic Games:

You must learn all the words to the Star Spangled Banner. It's our national anthem, and you're an athlete - you've heard it a quadrillion times in your athletic career. Can't sing? So what. At least mouth the right words - did you see the gusto with which Lisa Leslie of the US Women's Basketball Team was singing? That's what I want to see. From every last person. That includes you, audience.

OK, back to Gustav.

Unlike before Katrina, this time - if the prediction is dire - we will leave BEFORE the storm. Load up the truck, head North into MS. Try to telecommute from there. Yippee.

And tomorrow just happens to be the 3rd anniversary of the landfall of Katrina. And the beginning of Southern Decadence weekend.

We are as ready as we can be - oh, and add to all that, we are knee-deep in fundraising season for the New Orleans AIDS Walk (September 14). (Just in case anyone wants to sponsor me, you can check out my Walk Page here. Thanks!)

(Brain freeze.)

Sorry, but I tried to process too much at once there, and my mind seized up on me. We'll do what we have to do to stay safe. We'll get out of harm's way and we'll be prepared. We'll be with family and we'll take care of each other.

So, take care of yourselves - I will post as much as I can when I can and have the energy and presence of mind.

For now, peace and good thoughts. Pray if you do.

And tell the people you love that you love them.

Thanks for listening.

Love, your Ambassador

(I'm the taller one...)

Love to Me

Now I see as I have never seen before

Since that moment in the square

When your hat is carried in the air

Just so you can chase it

Just so I can be there

This is how I know

This is what I see

This is love to me

"Love to Me" from The Light in the Piazza

by Adam Guettel

Playing with the GreebleMonkey!

Always the competitive sort, I couldn't resist joining in the fun - Aimee at GreebleMonkey is hosting a photography contest. Today.

So, visit her blog - check out everyone's photos - leave comments - post a photo of your own - and spread the love.

Or something like that.

Here's my entry - a pic from our travels in June to Orcas Island, WA. I didn't even know I caught the bird in the shot until reviewing the photos last month on my computer.

Enjoy!!

Being Away...

So, after 3+ months, I am posting again.

It's been quite a time. In April, just after my last post, The Beau and I decided to take the plunge and finally move in together. As he has a fabulous condo and I had been renting a ramshackle flat next to a fairly grungy bar (not in the Nirvana sense, either), we have consolidated lives at the condo. (It's going very well. No dead bodies yet, no massive meltdowns - OK, one moderately hysterical one, but it couldn't be helped.)

For those of you who've read old posts of mine, you know that I have been a member of the United Methodist Church for most of my life. A friend of mine jokes that both she and I were Methodist in vitro. But recently, I've taken a break. A sabbatical, if you will, although the irony of the etymology of that word is painfully apparent.

You see, as a matter of official doctrine, the United Methodist Church (UMC) is OK with having gay congregants, accepting their time and donations, but they won't ordain them. Well, that's not quite fair - they subscribe to the liturgical version of "Don't Ask, Don't Tell".

So, if you don't tell your bishop or other church leader that you are a well-adjusted, caring homosexual in a loving, committed relationship, you can perhaps have the opportunity of being posted to lead a Methodist congregation and continue to serve the community at large.

Just don't be happy or a good role model or open and sharing of your experiences. Keep that to yourself, please.

Or we'll have to dispatch you from the pulpit.

Wait.

It gets better.

The following is directly from archives of umc.org, and while I acknowledge that each section is quoted out of its greater context, it is no less troubling. Until recent years, I had only been vaguely aware of the Church's official stance; seeing it in print is...well, heartbreaking.

For nearly 20 years, church law as recorded in the Book of Discipline has included a ban on the ordination of "self-avowed practicing homosexuals" and has espoused "fidelity in marriage and celibacy in singleness." And while acknowledging the "sacred worth" of homosexuals, church law condemns homosexual practices as "incompatible with Christian teaching."

And my life is incompatible with Christian teaching? I thought I'd lived a fairly decent Christian life - now, I don't want you to think that I have lost faith. My faith is strong and sure and deeply personal. But I have lost some great measure of faith in the UMC. And that hurts too.

The dichotomy of espousing fidelity in marriage but denying marriage rites or even union blessings to gay couples is at the very least contradictory. I don't know if any of you've ever come across this reference, but it speaks louder to me now than when I first heard it 20 years ago:

"We have forced gay people into the red-light districts, forced them to meet each other in bars and lurid places - then we call them promiscuous sinners." Adele Starr, founding President of Parents and Friends of Lesbians and Gays (PFLAG)

Jus this week in the weekly newsletter, our new choir master wrote an eloquent appeal to the congregation to consider joining the choir. I do miss the music, but not in the way that I thought I might. There was a time in my life, not so long ago, that despite whatever I was facing in my life, however deeply my faith and belief was challenged, that music lifted me up. I cannot begin to count the times in my life at Rayne that were full of grace through music. But for now, those strains have been silenced.

And for now, I am here. Not so very far away, but no longer where I was.

Peace.

Friday Haiku

greens so new, they're nearly white -
tender harbingers...
springtime profusions of Joy

I Love You Most

You may not know this, but…

I love you most when we touch.
From the moment you take my hand in yours
(and yes, I’ve noticed you do that more now than ever before),
all the in-between-hours and in-my-head-worries melt away…
and I am with you.

When I sit in the chair and pull you to me,
to hug me as you stand there—
my arms around your waist,
you bending to kiss the top of my head—
I know one thing:
if I didn’t love you already,
that hug would push me over the edge.

At the end of the day,
there’s such ease in the positions we assume—
your feet in my lap,
maybe shoulders or heads to be rubbed too…
but always touching.
Eventually, it’s the side-by-side-legs-entwined-lovely-time
when more of our skin is touching than any other time—
and love pours out—me to you, and back to me effortlessly…
and I sigh that sigh.

We will not stay like this through the night,
but the morning will again find us wrapped up in each other,
holding as much as possible
before the day and the in-between-not-touching-you hours begin.

And when my days are like they are
and I cannot touch you because you are not there,
please don’t think that I begin to love you any less.
I just recall the last time we touched, and how it made me feel…
and I smile that smile.

We joke about my lonely nights and hours,
pining away by the phone,
and we both laugh…
but the truth is this:
I ache more than you imagine to have you next to me…
holding my hand, touching my leg, stealing that little tender kiss…

A simple “I love you” is an extraordinary thing…
but I thought you should know that more than anything…

I love you most when we touch.