Memories of Summer and Autumn Dreams

School doesn't really get into full-swing over here for nearly two more weeks, but it's the first day of September, which has me thinking about summer and the dear memories from these last months that I'm still holding close:

  • Flying all night to be with my friend, Tim.
  • Sitting shiva with Susan and Jill.
  • Making music with Peter. It's like being held, in the best way.
  • Meeting Rose Polenzani.
  • A surprise from Jonatha.
  • Watching my girls play at the foot of the Brooklyn Bridge.
  • Seeing North by Northwest on the big screen. The crowd applauded all through the opening credits and Hitchcock's cameo, and the gentleman behind me told stories about seeing it the first time around.
  • Being with my whole family at The Swell Season concert in Prospect Park, and with Andy and Colleen, who are like family.  Laying on the blanket with Lucy and looking up at the trees and the night sky.
  • Watching my friends jump behind the mike at a hot dog stand concert that brought us to our feet.
  • A magical hike that led to what felt like the edge of the world.
  • Road-tripping to New Hampshire with my sister and seeing our aunt and cousin on the way home.
  • Bonus time with Hula, which is always so good. Like if time could be the yummiest ice cream flavor ever--that's how time with her is. 
  • A swimming hole that felt like something out of a movie, rope swing and all.

All the summer rest and play has filled me with all kinds of possibilities and dreams for the fall.  For me, after sowing and planting and tending and lots of lots of waiting, fall is always the time for harvest.  For gathering the fruits of our patience and sinking our teeth into them.

What memories of summer are you carrying with you into the coming months? Share them in the comments below. And if you have dreams you're ready to sink your teeth into, it's not too late to join Mondo Beyondo's fall session and create a harvest all your own. 


Horizon Perfekt, Lomo 400 35mm film

I'm cooking up a feast of good things over here in my creative kitchen, doing my best not to drown in the minutiae of it all.  My head is full of things I don't know how to talk about yet, and I'm working my to-do lists with steady precision.  Holding onto my friends like rocks in a river.

I wish I had more words for you today.  In the meantime, I'm minding these pots and dreaming of the days when I'll get to dish all this goodness out.

"Marching Orders" and A Voice Recovery Revolution

Central Park at Sunset, Diana Instant+, mulitple exposures

Dusk in The Mall, Central Park, Diana Instant+

Here are a couple pics from a beautiful little date we had in the park last night.  And a podcast to start your morning and your week.  I'm talking about receiving "marching orders" and holding big dreams.  (I mention this book.) Being bold enough to say it out loud has power, so the comments are open for you to tell us the marching orders you're currently following, the ludicrous assignments you're still regarding with suspicion, or the big dreams that make you gape and stare.

I went first. You can do it, too:

(Click on the link to listen in your browser, or right-click to download.)

If I wrote you a song

Carriage in Central Park, Diana+It was a few weeks ago when I was trying to wriggle out of the work unfolding before me, and I was having a really hard, fragile-feeling day.  I went into Manhattan for a story slam, and realized once I got there that I was there on the wrong day.  It was Tuesday, and the show wasn't until Thursday.  On the subway ride back home, I watched the sun set behind the Brooklyn Bridge and the Statue of Liberty.  The sky was glowing with color and light, and the water below the bridge was a mirror next to the flame.

I was listening to one of Jonatha Brooke's songs on my iPod, and thinking how magic it would be if she was there right that minute.  If she could take one look at me and write the song I needed to hear.  What would that song be, I wondered. And I came home and jotted down these lines.  Then I forgot about them until this morning when I was thinking about a friend. 

If I wrote you a song, it might be something like this.  Because maybe at the end of the day, we are asking the same kinds of questions, trying to work out a truce with the same kinds of fears. I think we all have less frightening lives that woo us from time to time (the coffee shop barista apron beckons me more than you can know).  But I've never regretted being brave.  If you've been thankful, even once, for another person's courage, use that memory to help you believe that someone will be thankful and loving you on the other end of yours.

Love Me This Big (or Song I Wrote for Myself on a Shitty Day)

Can you look in my eyes
and see all that I carry
set it to a sweet tune
so it won't sound so scary
Will you write a lyric about dreaming
and another one about fears
Something that will make sense of
this laughter and these tears

Will you love me this big
will you love me this small
hold my power and passion
and my fear that I will fall
Do you see me on the mountaintop
and crying in my bed
Will you love me this big
will you love me this small

If you say what I need to hear
but put it in a rhyme
it will sneak up on me
when I'm having a good time
Tell me to come out of hiding
because it's not all about me
others are counting on me to speak
so they can also be free

Will you love me this big
will you love me this small
hold my power and passion
and my fear that I will fall
Do you see me on the mountaintop
and crying in my bed
Will you love me this big
will you love me this small