There are some things that happen that make me wonder about my fellow man.
Like theater shootings, the fact that to some black lives don’t matter, dog haters, and Donald Trump supporters.
That man with that hair has spewed so many pompous, insulting, just plain stupid things in his bid for president, that it’s hard to believe anyone could take him seriously as a candidate, let alone actually support him.
While I’ve never been a fan, I am impressed by the fact that he can consistently embarrass himself every time he opens his mouth. And more impressive is that there are people who LOVE him. WHAT IS THAT? WHO ARE THOSE PEOPLE? Are they the same dudes that don’t believe in climate change?
I’m normally always grateful for a good laugh, but Donald Trump isn’t funny. And less funny are those who would like to put him in the oval office.
I went to Crane’s beach yesterday. It was not very crowded. There was a breeze. The sound of the water made my blood pressure plummet into what must have been cadaver-isn numbers.
Normally, I get in a lot of beach time during Boston’s short summer. This year I have not. And yesterday, when I plopped my chair down, all of me seemed to relax into itself, the world seemed to recede back and the constant, rhythmic waves washed over my jumpy stressed out mind like the prettiest tulle veil.
When I’m at the beach, things make sense that don’t make sense when I’m not. Perspective is easier for me to befriend.
It seems to me I need some more of that right now. Before winter starts knocking on the door.
The humble, the exceedingly talented James Taylor hitting it clear outta the Park last night.
Singing every word of “Fire and Rain” on the couch of my parent’s living room, looking out the bay windows, feeling so deeply I thought I would burst. Crooning “You’ve Got a Friend” with my AFA’s (this is the original sign-off that meant A Friend Always, showing my age again), Cruising around California with my sister and singing “Mexico” and “Shower the People” over and over and over again. The chorus of Martha’s Vineyard summers, knowing every word BY HEART, with sea and sand and country roads surrounding me. The concerts: in Fairfield, in Harvard stadium, on the Vineyard with Carly Simon post-divorce (where my cousin literally WILLED us of the two impossible-to-get tickets, laying on the grass at AgHall). Sitting next to him at Lucy Vincent Beach and deciding not to bother him (GOD IT WAS HARD). Jags of only playing his music, only his all knowing, iconic voice. So many musical stories that could bring me to tears, make me feel my heart, my soul, and everything important. So many words, so much music that resonated, that I sang out in my WHAT IS THAT NOISE, IT SOUNDS LIKE A DYING ANIMAL voice, throughout my life, around the world. The resplendent sound, and meaning, and sweet music of James Taylor has been as much a part of me as my limbs. An extreme thing to say, but I do believe it’s true.
Great seats.
Last night, at Fenway Park, under dreamy skies, with my husband and one of my very closest friends and her guy, I saw James Taylor again, and his voice was the same as it has always been–pure, sincere, and comforting. Old songs, but sadly not all of them, new songs, I will buy today, and humble words of thanks from him, to be experiencing a night in Boston’s famed ballpark doing what he does.
My husband made an emoji playlist. Don’t ask.
Great seats.
Me. Colleen. A night to remember.
Colleen and Todd. This was Todd’s first time at Fenway (he’s from California).
Sometimes you have a moment when things are perfect, and you feel like all is right, like nothing could ever be wrong or bad. That was last night. I kept looking at the sky, standing up and dancing when nobody else was, just immersing myself in the experience of a truly other worldly night in this town.
On a lighter note, my husband has become obsessed with emojis. Before the concert he was emoji-ing my friend and I song titles. She was participating too. I was laughing (and trying to get some work done). Well, that wasn’t the end of it. He group messaged us every song in emoji form. Yes, that happened.
I’m not even discussing Bonnie Raitt, who was the warm up band! I mean, she is a show all by herself. And her voice is as crystal clear and perfect as it has always been.
A night for the books, as my friend texted me this morning. “The Secret O’ Life.” (my very favorite song, if you don’t know it, listen to the words today).
I always think there are like 4,324,567,906,011 colors out there, unless I’m trying to paint something, then there seem to be none.
We are painting our house. It was in bad shape prior to last winter, but the snow and ice practically tore it apart and we realized we would have to shell out the cash to put it back together. I thought this would be exciting and fun, but guess what? Finding a color seems to be like finding a needle in the pile of clothes that’s usually in a pile in the middle of my son’s room when he is home, with your hands tied behind your back and your eyeballs closed.
Plus it’s not like we’re going to paint it again anytime soon, so the stakes are sort of high in picking the right color. Plus plus, my neighbor and I (on account of we’re an attached side by side house) have to make the choice together. So it’s a pretty important decision (no pressure, not like deciding on the Iran deal or anything). But it feels like we might as well try and negotiate world peace while we’re at it.
Heading to the paint store for another round of experiments. Maybe today will be the day. Fingers crossed. Grateful to be able to do this, not quite as grateful about the process. Amen.
It’s electrifying to experience new things. A few weeks ago I finally got to make the death defying drive along the coast from L.A. to San Francisco, and see for myself the rocky, natural beauty of the California coast. It opened up a new pleasure center, inspired a part of me that had been asleep. But yesterday, yesterday I saw something that made my mouth hang open like my facial muscles were on vacation in Hawaii and gave me that women-with-too-much-botox look of surprise. I saw fucking golf balls fall out of the sky in the form of ice. Yup, August 3, it looked to me like locust could be next.
But aside from the fact that this was just absolutely bizarre married to ridiculous, it was kind of thrilling to witness something I’d NEVER seen before. My brain couldn’t process the data my eyeballs were sending in. “Does not compute,” my brain was saying. “I don’t make this shit up, I just report what I see.” my eyes were shouting back.
It really did feel like an out of body experience, because in my whole LIFE I’ve never, and I mean NEVER seen anything like that, but at the same time it was kind of exciting to see something so incongruous to the date on the calendar, and everything I know to be right. It sort of wakes you up to the power that’s beyond our control–MISS MOTHER NATURE. Within 30 minutes, the sun was back out, and aside from dented cars, and leaves and branches all over the place, things had returned to a normal-ish state. But for that like, six or so minutes, I was in another world, and it was all sorts of interesting.
My stunningly beautiful niece, Molly tied the knot in the loveliest wedding ever. Grateful to have been part of such fun, love and MAJOR GORGEOSITY. Hoping her marriage is as perfect as her super special day was.
My vacation followed by my weekend of wedded bliss and spotty blog postings are now over. Stay tuned for your regularly scheduled gratitude-a-thon tomorrow. Hugs and kisses to Molly and Daniel. xo
Siting in back of the parents of the bride, I got this picture. Seems a perfect frame.The happy couple off to begin their life together. My sister in law’s hair is awesome, isn’t it?
*the gratitude-a-thon 