Richard Pryor

"He was funny but a lot of people are funny. The difference with Pryor was that he was real and vulnerable and raw and accessible." (Susie Essman)

Divine

"We are like a lot of wild spiders crying together, but without tears..." (Robert Lowell borrowed this from his young daughter, Hannah.)

Bus Blues

Worked five hours. Five hours on the bus. At one point on the way home, I found I was leaning back in my seat with my mouth open. I felt like freight. Like a suitcase. I walked in the front door and was offered dinner. I could hardly talk. Doing a suitcase impression is not so great for the personality. Minutes later, really, I found myself laughing about something and then making Bill and Deb laugh. Of course, they had been wonderfully empathetic before that happened.

The Fire

Charles Bukowski once wrote that the gods push him into the fire so he can "yelp a few good lines."

Bach in the DC Subway

"As an experiment, The Washington Post asked a concert violinist--wearing jeans, tennis shoes, and a baseball cap--to stand near a trash can at rush hour in the subway and play Bach on a Stradivarius. Partita No. 2 in D Minor called out to commuters like an ocean to waves, sang to the station about why we should bother to live.

A thousand people streamed by. Seven of them paused for a minute or so and thirty-two dollars floated into the open violin case. A cafe' hostess who drifted over to the open door each time she was free said later that Bach gave her peace, and all the children, all of them, waded into the music as if it were water, listening until they had to be rescued by parents who had somewhere else to go."

David Lee Garrison, Sweeping the Cemetery: New and Selected Poems, Browser Books Publishing, 2007.

Vito Sails

David called to ask if he could tell a story about Vito the sailor (my fictitious alter ego) at a workshop at his church. He wants to talk about Vito's "rare and persistent faith." I said, "That sounds like a disease." Felt honored nonetheless.

Friendly Pillows

Managed to wake up in less than my usual Saturday morning morass. A relief to feel befriended by my pillows. The room was flooded by light. When I opened the window, the bamboo was rustling. The bees my housemates are raising below my window were probably rustling too but I chose not to pay attention to them. Just the goodness of wanting to be awake, of having a few errant optimistic thoughts.