Dan Riley's Blog

Me and my James Dean memorial stamp. 
First, thanks to soul sister Sheila O’ Malley for reminding me that today would be James Dean’s 91st birthday. I was only 9 when Dean’s first feature East of Eden was shown at our local theater…10 when Rebel Without a Cause was. Seems real young when I think about it, but through those two films Dean made an indelible impression on me, as witness by this passage from my 1994 book, The Dan Riley School for a Girl:

There’s a great deal of nostalgia about the good, old days of American public education. They seem good to me too, although not particularly rigorous academically. In fact my most vivid recollection of my elementary school teachers is that they excelled at teaching manners and conventions above all else. I can remember bringing my brother's milk money down to Miss Sullivan's first grade class and wearing my collar up in honor of James Dean who had just died in his car crash. There was a great deal of concern about juvenile delinquency back then, and of course the surest sign of a boy gone bad was a turned up collar. So Miss Sullivan did her bit to save me from going the full JD route -- sideburns, black leather jacket, a sneer, and long, idle hours on the street corner. She took me aside and turned my collar down and said, "There. You're not that kind of a boy." 
What significantly set that incident apart from today’s school environment, I think, is that Miss Sullivan was not taking a great risk in touching a student’s clothes and venturing a judgment on what kind of boy he was or wasn’t. Back then she wouldn’t have had to worry about unleashing a tirade from the student or the student’s parents about the student’s rights. This is not to suggest that student rights are not a legitimate issue. As both a student and teacher myself over the years I witnessed numerous infractions of those rights, and it’s well that they be treated with respect -- which is not to be confused with reverence. Sometimes I think in the swirl of controversy surrounding today’s American public schools, we’d all be a lot happier and a lot better off if teachers -- and parents -- could express themselves clearly and freely about what kind of boys -- and girls -- we are or ought to become.

Without giving Miss Sullivan any back talk or attitude, just my brother’s milk money, I left her room, walked up to the second floor, exercised my right to pull my collar back up, and returned to my classroom. In typical kid fashion, I thought I had the last laugh, but here I am 40 years later and Miss Sullivan’s words are still with me. 

 Miss Sullivan’s words and James Dean’s performances…I’ve watched East of Eden and Rebel Without a Cause multiple times since my childhood, and I find myself as stirred by his acting more than by any other actor living or dead. I anticipate his every dramatic note and am never disappointed. Reflecting on his all too brief career has me thinking about what films he would’ve made had he lived. Below is a list based of films made by his contemporaries that he could’ve been cast in and either matched or surpassed the actual performance. As happens Paul Newman, who admitted to being intimated by Dean’s talent and in constant competition with him, probably would’ve lost out on more choice roles than anyone else…but there’s really no shame in that. I say this as a big Paul Newman fan, but even those inspired blue eyes would not have been a match for James Dean’s intensity: 
Somebody Up There Likes Me (for which he had already been cast, Newman was Plan B) Psycho (replaces Anthony Perkins) I Never Sang for My Father (replaces Gene Hackman) Chinatown (replaces Nicholson) The Conversation (replaces Gene Hackman) Cool Hand Luke (replaces Newman) The Verdict (replaces Newman) The Great Escape (replaces Steve McQueen) Tender Mercies (replaces Robert Duvall) Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid (replaces either Newman or Robert Redford) Midnight Cowboy (replaces either Dustin Hoffman or Jon Voight) Bonnie and Clyde (replaces Warren Beatty)

 

Paul Robeson one of the most famous black men in America
lived in this house (1940-1953) in Enfield, Connecticut, one of the whitest
towns in America.

From Now Playing: Black Panther, an excerpt:

With the Strand closed down, at least temporarily, the D’Aleo family found itself with more time and less money on its hands. To shore up the family income, Ellie started looking for more shifts rather than fewer at the hospital. To assure that the closure was temporary rather than permanent Leo spent endless hours in conversation with lawyers, government officials, and theater industry contacts. To relieve her boredom, Rosemary was in a constant search for Shep, who seemed to have totally disappeared from her life shortly after the police cordoned off the theater. She had no car for getting around and there was no phone at his mother’s house where he lived. She never realized how much the Strand was central to their relationship. They could always count on seeing each other there, spending time together and making plans to go elsewhere, but all of a sudden their relationship had gone as dark as the Strand.

Frustrated and longing to see him she ventured out on foot just on the off chance she would find him. She walked up Grant Street from the family home and then took a right on Rt. 5 on the familiar path she took to high school for four years. When she got to the high school, she just kept walking toward the classic end of town...no shops...no offices...surely no theaters, but a leafy stretch of homes with Georgian columns, colonial-era churches, and historic landmarks of Enfield’s pre-Revolutionary period. She ambled, intent at first on possibly catching sight of Shep driving down the town’s main thoroughfare. But then she came to a boulder on the side of the road and her mind went elsewhere. The boulder was engraved with the following:

THIS BOULDER MARKS THE PLACE WHERE STOOD THE SECOND MEETING HOUSE OF THE FIRST CHURCH OF CHRIST IN ENFIELD BUILT A.D. 1704 AND USED FOR WORSHIP UNTIL 1775.

IN THIS MEETING HOUSE ON JULY 8, 1741, DURING THE REVIVAL KNOWN AS “THE GREAT AWAKENING” JOHNATHAN EDWARDS PREACHED HIS CELEBRATED SERMON “SINNERS IN THE HANDS OF AN ANGRY GOD”

Of course Rosemary knew “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” as did every schoolchild in Enfield. They knew or at least heard of it since it was mandatory reading in the town’s junior high. Rosemary had not committed the sermon to memory, but the gist of it was most impressionable on young minds and thus unforgettable: “The bow of God’s wrath is bent, and the arrow made ready on the string, and justice bends the arrow at your heart, and strains the bow, and it is nothing but the mere pleasure of God, and that of an angry God, without any promise or obligation at all, that keeps the arrow one moment from being made drunk with your blood.”

What was new to Rosemary was the discovery of this boulder marking the spot where Edwards delivered the sermon. She’d never seen it before...never knew it was there. Until that moment, the sermon was as detached from any time and place as any textbook assignment ever was. The idea that a building stood on that spot where former citizens of her hometown gathered and worshipped words that would resound for more than 200 years was revelatory to her. It made her ponder whether such a circumstance existed in her current Enfield. Was there a building in town where words were spoken that would have resonance long after she and all her contemporaries had passed? That profound question shook her being. She had always been so busy at the theater and pleasing her parents and canoodling with Shep that her mind was generally off limits to such deep thoughts. But there she was entertaining such a thought as she turned and started to backtrack her walk.

She hadn’t gotten far when she noticed on the opposite side of the street up ahead a broken down, blue painted school bus. She recognized it immediately as one of the buses from the local L.B. Haas tobacco farm where Shep worked before he came to the Strand. She also recognized the torso that disappeared under the hood and bent over the bus’s engine as Shep’s. She screamed with delight at the sight and ran towards him.

Shep pulled his head out to turn and look in her direction. She ran into his arms, nearly in tears, “Shep...Shep...Shep...where have you been? I’ve missed you like crazy.”

They kissed.

“I’m sorry, hon,” he began, “I’ve been busy with...”

“You’re working tobacco!” she exclaimed, suddenly noticing the row of black faces looking down on them from inside the bus.

“Well,” he started to explain, “I made a deal with Mr. Granger, my old supervisor there, that I’d take the bus around and pick up Colored folks and bring them by for a tour of the fields. Every summer it gets harder and harder for them to get kids to take on that work; it’s so hard and dirty. I told him I would pick these people up from, you know, Springfield and New Haven and so forth and bring them by and then he could pay me a bit per head for however many sign their kids up for the next summer.”

“What an extremely weird idea, Shep. What’s gotten into you?”

“To be honest, Rosemary, it’s a lie,” he replied a bit abashed. “I told him that just to get the use of the bus. But it’s all really for you. Your dad. The theater.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

He looked up at the people on the bus and waved his hand over them. They all smiled and waved back.

“They want to see Black Panther,” he said. “So I’m taking them.”

“But the police still have the theater roped off, and dad heard this morning that men are coming up from Washington to maybe close the theater for good.”

“That’s why we’re bringing the Underground Railroad back,” Shep said. “You see that house,” he added, pointing to a large mansion up the road from the bus breakdown. “That’s the Potter mansion. Wealthy Ephraim Pease built it next door to his own mansion when his 14-year old daughter Sybil married Rev. Potter in 1779. Even though his father-in-law was a slave owner, that didn’t stop Rev. Potter from turning his house into a station on the Underground Railroad to help runaway slaves escape to freedom.”

Rosemary looked into Shep’s face with unfiltered astonishment. “Shep Farrell,” she said, “What’s gotten into you? I mean, what in the deepest recesses of all unholy hell has gotten into you?”

Before Shep could answer, Marcus rolled out from under the bus, holding up a small black rubber hose. “Found it!” he announced.

“That’s it!” Shep exclaimed. He took the piece from Marcus’s hand and rushed over to put it under the hood of the bus.

“I’m Marcus,” Marcus said, holding a hand out to Rosemary. She took it tentatively...and not because it would be the first Colored hand she ever touched, but because she was still flabbergasted by the tall Negro’s sudden appearance from under the bus.

“Rosemary,” she replied. Then she quickly moved toward Shep, who had ducked under the hood again momentarily.

When Shep re-emerged triumphant, he announced, “There, that should do it." He wiped grease from his hands.  "Rosemary, Marcus is my new friend. He’s helping me get all these people in to see the movie. Come on. We’ll give you a ride.” 

With that he hurried in to take the bus driver’s seat. Marcus politely ushered her in front of him. As she hesitantly climbed the stairs into the bus, she was greeted by the sound of the engine turning over and an appreciative applause from the bus riders. When Rosemary reached the top step, she was shocked to see another white face against the sea of blacks. It was Mrs. Dundee, her bookkeeping teacher, seated in the front row and acknowledging her with a smile. Marcus slid by and took the seat next to Sheila, as a young Negro boy vacated the seat across the aisle and offered it to Rosemary. Somewhat in a daze she took it.

Shep started motoring north up RT 5 back toward the high school and Rosemary’s home, but he hardly travelled a mile when he stopped, pulled over and opened the door. He looked in the rearview mirror back at his passengers and directed their eyes out the door to another stately, old Enfield home. It was grand enough for royalty, fronted by four large white columns; a fancy wrought iron fenced-in balcony overlooking the main entrance, and north and south facing porticoes. Shep said, “Marcus, tell the people about that house.”

Marcus gladly stood up and turned back to face the passengers. “That, ladies and gentlemen, was the home of world renown singer Paul Robeson, who lived there from 1941 to just last year. Most of you know the lofty heights Brother Robeson has reached in a world full of challenges for the Colored man...first in his class at Rutgers University, All-American football player, international musical star of the stage, and invited to give a royal command performance at Buckingham Palace.”

“Ooohs and aaahs,” rippled through the bus.

“And of course,” Marcus continued, “Many of you know of his tireless efforts on behalf of the poor and downtrodden. I was honored to be one of his bodyguards in Peekskill, New York, just a few short years ago when he was forced to reschedule a benefit concert for union workers after the Ku Klux Klan broke up the original concert. We linked arms...black and white together...to protect him while he sang his heart out for 25,000 working people from all over. I will not tell you it was an easy day in the sun, because it was not. The enemies of the common good attacked again...viciously...while the police stood idly by. No, it was not an easy day, but it was a proud day, and I’d do it again to bring about a better day. When you’re watching this glorious movie tonight just a few miles from here, I want you to remember this house and the brave man who lived here because that movie owes him a debt.”

Marcus responded to the respectful silence that followed by walking down the aisle of the bus and pressing the flesh of the passengers.

Rosemary leaned forward in her seat to ask Shep, “Where exactly are we going?”

Shep smiled and said, “Well, first to Haas Tobacco. Got to keep up appearances, and got to stay out of sight as much as possible ‘til dark. If you know what I mean.”

Rosemary looked at Marcus heading back down the aisle, exchanged a cursory smile with Sheila, and then turned to Shep. “I really don’t know how you can afford to do this. How can you even afford the gas?”

“Everyone chips in,” he replied. “They bring their own lunches. So it doesn’t cost a dime. Which reminds me.” He reached down to the side of his seat, picked up a bulging moneybag and handed it to Rosemary. “Proceeds from ticket sales. These are paying customers, sweetheart.”

“Your man’s the White Panther, Rosemary,” said Marcus as he resumed his seat. Shep smiled proudly and touched down on the gas pedal, sending the bus forward. 

So intent were they in going unnoticed that they didn’t notice less than another mile up the road the two black, government-issued limousines disgorging passengers...six white men in topcoats, suits and hats...checking into the esteemed Elmcroft Inn, formerly Vail’s Sanatorium for the treatment of mental illnesses.

Now Playing: Black Panther is the ideal gift for everyone on your Valentine's Day shopping list, especially Baby Boomers, movie buffs, Black Panther fans (and those who never saw Black Panther or Forever Wakanda), US history junkies, political satire savants, lovers of short books, fans of funny books, and connoisseurs of fine literature everywhere. And it's now very affordably available here. (5-Star reviews accepted.)

Cassidy Hutchinson

After reading a portion of the just released transcript of Cassidy Hutchinson’s testimony to the January 6 committee, I used bad Twitter to express an opinion about her testimony that seemed to be get some attention:

I know it’s going to happen…probably already happening. Reese Witherspoon or some other savvy Hollywood power player is going to make Cassidy Hutchinson’s story into a movie or HBO series. I’d love to be the one that does it, but that’s probably not going to happen. However, I do have this handy little blog, and I want to use the Nob to get down first and foremost my own vision for this project. 

It would turn the Man for All Seasons myth on its head. In that Academy Award winning Best Picture movie Thomas More struggled to balance loyalty to his king, Henry VII, with loyalty to his Church. His king wanted More to condone the annulment of his marriage to his old wife and accept his marriage to his new wife. More refused to break with the precepts of Catholicism and the authority of the Pope to do so. The high-toned dialog of A Man for All Seasons treats the entire imbroglio as an epic, metaphysical battle for the human soul. To sustain such a lofty profile, one would have to ignore the tawdry, brutish circumstances of Henry VIII’s life and the moral priggishness and religious extremism of Thomas More’s life. Robert Bolt, the author of A Man for All Season, ignores both brilliantly…not that there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve already given my blessing to creators doing what they wish with actual life stories. 

The Cassidy Hutchinson story, however, would be greatly enhanced by foregoing any attempt at whitewashing. In the transcript of her testimony we vividly see how excruciating a struggle it can be for an ordinary human to do the right thing. What follows are excerpts from her testimony that detail her deeply mixed emotions of how it was with her first Trump supplied lawyer, Stefan Passantino, representing her. 

Excerpt 1
Ms. Cheney. And was there anything else at the breakfast as you were preparing for the interview that you can recall? 

Ms. Hutchinson. Not that I haven't previously stated.I think I already said this; I don't know. For the record in case I didn't, yeah,I just --I don't remember raising specific issues that morning that I was nervous about, but I was telling him I was nervous that you all were going to ask me certain questions that I would recall. And he said, "Your go-to, Cass, is 'I don't recall.'" 

He was like, "Again, if you start using that in the beginning, they're going to realize really quick that they have better witnesses than you, and they're not going to ask you as complicated of questions as you're worried about." And he was like, "Trust me. You just need to trust me on this." So l said, "Okay." 

Ms. Cheney. Okay. So then we get into the first interview. And can you walk us through that first interview with the committee and Stefan's interactions with you during the interview? 

Ms. Hutchinson. Yes. To be completely frank,  I was extremely nervous going into the first interview, for a multitude of reasons. You know, I felt like--I almost felt like at points Donald Trump was looking over my shoulder. 

Because, one, I know how Trump world operates. Two, Stefan had already kind of planted the seeds of, we know you're loyal, like, we know you're going to do the right thing, we know you're on Team Trump, like, we want to take care of you. So it's those phrases that I had heard throughout my tenure at the White House, that I'd worked to separate myself from for a year, now I'm hearing them again. 

And it's like, oh, my gosh, now I'm sitting here with a lawyer who also represents maybe Trump on certain matters but is definitely deeply connected in Trump world.

Excerpt 2

Ms. Hutchinson. Now, don't get me wrong, too. Like, with or without Stefan, I don't think that I would've wanted to provide information that was hurtful to the President. I mean, still to this day, like, I feel bad if he's ever embarrassed by anything that I said, but I never wanted to lie about anything. I never would've covered that story up, because I knew -I knew what I was told.

...

But, this one, there was no way out. And that's why I was so explicit with Stefan. I was like, "I lied. I lied, I lied, I lied." And he had said, "No. You're fine, you're fine.”

So then we went back into the interview, and that sort of had me rattled for a little bit. And, yeah, I'd said to him, like, "They know I know a lot." And he said, "They don't know you know a lot. You think they know, because you do." He's like, "But you're doing the right thing."

Excerpt 3

Ms. Hutchinson. So, that night, Stefan and I had a glass of wine at Michael Best, and he had said, you know, "I was going to call my law partners" - Terwilliger and Moran, George Terwilliger and John Moran, who were at the time representing Mr. Meadows. I think they still are; I'm not sure. 

"I was going to call them tonight to let them know that you had your interview today and that you did a good job and that it's over." He said, "But I'm kind of having second thoughts now." He's like, "I'll figure out how to handle it with my law partners, but I think I should call Terwilliger and Moran in the next couple days and say 'Cassidy's interview is scheduled for' and then give the date." He's like, "I don't want them to think that you went in twice, because I don't think that will make Mark happy." He's like, "So I'm just going to try to downplay it and make it seem like your next second interview is your first and last interview, if that's okay with you."  

And at the time, again, I didn't really have any objections. I was like, "Look, you're my lawyer. I'm going to trust that you are going to do what's best for me." And he said, "Okay. Great." We briefly talked about jobs that night, nothing too substantive until -

Ms. Cheney. I’m sorry. What did he say about jobs that night?

Ms. Hutchinson. He said that he was going to talk to his law partners in that conversation and then that they would be in touch with me soon about getting  employment, because he was like - Stefan said something to the effect of, "They're dragging this out for you. This is so not fair. We want to make sure that we get you financially set up and taken care of as quickly as possible.

Excerpt 4

Ms. Hutchinson. So, then, on March 1st, we called and we were talking briefly about jobs. Like, he had texted me that he had a few good job leads, so I called him. And he began the conversation saying something like, "We're gonna get you a really good job in Trump world. You don't need to apply other places. We're gonna get you taken care of. We want to keep you in the family." 

Excerpt 5

Ms. Hutchinson. Stefan sent that email. He knew that I wanted to do the second one in person. He said, "Do you see an upside to this? Candidly, I don't." And then we just kind of go through it. And then he decides - he said - 

Ms.Cheney. Why did you want to do it in person? 

Ms. Hutchinson. I felt that if I could see you all face-to-face, it would be easier to have these conversations. 

One, I really don't like Zoom. I think Zoom is extremely impersonal, and I prefer face-to-face communication. 

But I also felt that, if I were to do a second interview in person, you know, I think I articulate myself better face-to-face. It's more emotional and personal to me. But I also thought, like - and this is going to sound quintessential and cheesy, but I also felt that, like, I would have a little bit more courage to kind of break away because you guys would be sitting in front of me, and there'd be my lawyer next to me, but there would be more people in front of me that I could talk to, where I'm not feeling like it's him, Stefan, watching over my shoulder. 

Excerpt 6

Ms. Hutchinson. Yes. And would you mind if we briefly step back just for one item on the 23rd? 

Ms. Cheney. Not at all. 

Ms. Hutchinson. I just wanted to make it clear for the record —and I believe I've sort of alluded to this, but I just want to make it a little bit more clear that, throughout my first interview, yes, there were specific instances where either he would interject or I would say "I don't recall," but in my mind this whole time I felt this moral struggle.

And, looking back now, it feels a little - not even "a little" ridiculous - it feels  ridiculous, because in my heart I knew where my loyalties lied, and my loyalties lied with the truth. And I never wanted to diverge from that. You know, I never wanted or thought that I would be the witness that I have become, because I thought that more people would be willing to speak out too.

But as I'm going through the first interview, I remember just in the back of my mind I was constantly thinking, like —I was trying so hard to be loyal to the President and to be loyal to Meadows and to be loyal to the Trump White House, one, becauseI felt that I had to be. I had Stefan sitting next to me, and he had never explicitly said, like, "You have to be loyal to these people, and if you're not, these will be the repercussions,"  but I knew the repercussions. I'd been in this world. I knew what I was subjecting myself to when I got into this situation, and I knew what I had to do to get through it. But in the back of my mind, too, I just kept thinking, like, "This is wrong. I don’t like who I'm being right now. I don't like the way that I'm handling this right now." But I just sort of reconciled that as I moved through as, "You know what? I'm getting it done. And it's what my lawyer told me to do. Maybe it is the right thing. Maybe I am overthinking it. You know, they are talking to other people." But I did just feel this heavy guilt, walking out of Michael Best that night. 

And I told Stefan that whenI left that night. I was like, "Stefan, I feel really guilty and bad about not answering some questions today." I was like, "I feel like I should go back and clarify some things next time." He said, "Well, we can talk about it," he's like, "but you did really well today, Cass. I don't want you to second-guess anything. We’re all really proud of you. Don't worry. Just go home and get some sleep. We’ll talk in a couple days."

So I just, like, for the purposes of the clarity of the record too, I'm not sitting here trying to make myself out to be some hero. I know I handled things wrong. At least, I think I handled some things wrong in the first interview. You know, I hate that I had this moral struggle, because it shouldn't have existed. But once I got back into that world and they were, quote/unquote, "taking care of me," I felt that I owed my allegiance to other people too. And drawing that line, for me, was nearly impossible, moving through this day. And it's hard. Like, there were some questions I would say, like, "I don't recall, but”—and then, as I read through the transcript, I can see, like, where I'm trying to give a little bit. And we'd take a break, and Stefan would say, "You're doing really well, but you're starting to answer questions that they're not really asking yet. Maybe they won't go there. Let's just keep trying to taper it down a little bit. You're doing well. Let's wrap  this up. We don't want to make this longer than it has to be.”

So the question for me became, where do my loyalties lie? And I knew where they were, but I wasn't equipped with people that allowed me and empowered me to be loyal to the country and to be loyal to the truth. 

And whether or not what I had to share was important to the scheme of your investigation, like, I didn't know. Again, I partially thought that it would be corroborating. I didn't think that it would be sometimes the first that you guys had heard things or however it ended up playing out. 

But, you know, I did feel like it was my obligation and my duty to share it, because I think that if you're given a position of public power, it's also your job, your civic responsibility, to allow the people to make decisions for themselves. And if no one's going to do that, like, somebody has to do it.

So, anyway, that's just —you know, it's a sidebar, but just sort of a —my mindset that day was kind of all over the place. And, obviously, my responses are reflected in that.

And it wasn't just that I had Stefan sitting next to me; it was almost like I felt like I had Trump looking over my shoulder. Because I knew in some fashion it would get back to him if I said anything that he would find disloyal. And the prospect of that genuinely scared me. You know, I'd seen this world ruin people's lives or try to ruin people's careers around D.C. all that long, but I think some of it is unique to Trump world, the level they'll go to to tear somebody else down. I'd seen how vicious they can be.

And part of that's politics, but a lot of it, too - you know, I obviously haven't been around D.C. all that long, but I think some of it is unique to Trump world, the level they'll go to to tear somebody else down. And I was scared of that.

So just, this first interview, like, that was also going on in the back of my mind. And trying to work through and deal with that was hard. But I also don't want to underemphasize that Stefan did give me legal counsel and advice, but I took it. I didn’t have to take it. I took it. He was my lawyer, and I believed it.

So, like, I can't pin —morally, I can't sit here and pin all of the blame on him, because I'm also an adult that can make decisions. It was my job to accept the legal counsel that he provided me, and, you know, I did. 

I would hardly change a word of any of that. Could probably be the easiest Oscar-winning screenplay anyone ever wrote. 

Betty Copp Woodsum,
1/3/1923-12/13/2022

Elizabeth Copp Woodsum died today, 18 days short of her 100th birthday. For 54 of those years she was my mother-in-law and for the initial rocky years of that relationship she was my nemesis. She did not like the idea of her daughter Lorna marrying me and went so far as to tell my mother upon their first meeting that she would oppose the marriage with everything she had in her. My mother upon hearing that pretty much took it the way I imagine the Virgin Mary took it when Pontius Pilate turned his back on her Jesus. How could he? How could she? 

Although I took Betty’s hostility better than my mom did, it was a strange experience to be so disliked by someone, especially someone of such importance to my future. I had been voted Most Popular Boy in my high school graduating class after all. Everyone liked Dan! Until Betty. That was the loss of a different kind of innocence. And that’s what made her such a major figure in the novel of my life where most everyone I have ever encountered takes a part like a character in a sprawling Dickens saga. 

I call her the Dowager Countess Betty here because I thought of her every time I watched the great Maggie Smith engage the role of Violet Crawley in Downton Abbey. Like Violet, Betty was strong-willed, set in her ways, and elitist. But she was also enormously talented, driven, and quite fun to be with in spite of herself. All of that would be revealed to me over the long period of our time related. But in those early rocky years, Lorna’s unwavering love for me and my own good sense of humor helped me deflect the antipathy. Good thing, too, because there were moments then when the antipathy was pretty intimidating, like my first Thanksgiving visit to the Woodsums when Betty invited a crew of Lorna’s ex-boyfriends to the house. 

Again, comparisons with Downton Abbey come to mind because Betty’s objections to me were largely based on religious, political and class differences. Sybil Crawley, Violet’s beautiful granddaughter, falls in love with Tom Branson, the family chauffeur…Irish, Catholic, and politically active in Ireland’s struggle for independence. Those elements nearly perfectly mirror the dynamic between Betty and me…where my working class roots, Catholicism, ethnicity and political activism were prime sources of discontent for her. 

What finally changed it all? The turning point seemed to be the birth of our daughter Meagan…kind of like it was with the birth of Tom and Sybil’s daughter with two notable exceptions. Unlike Sybil, Lorna did not die after giving birth and we did not baptize Meagan Catholic—probably not insignificant differences.  

Then at one point in my meandering career, Betty played a pivotal role by fully financing my first foray into book publishing. The book, The Red Sox Reader, went on to rousing success, and Betty took great pride in that success. That became a very real bonding experience between us. 

Betty’s husband Bill and I bonded as well over both being married to such irrepressible women as Betty and Lorna. Once Bill told me the story of how Betty had been after him to go up on the roof of their condo and trim the palm tree fronds that were flapping against their windows. Bill in his 80s at the time kept putting her off by insisting that it was a job for the condo management. One day he came home from golf to find Betty…also in her 80s…up on the roof. She had a saw in hand and was cutting away the fronds herself. “Bill, my brother,” I exclaimed, “that’s my life with Lorna!”

Over time Betty and I settled into a quite comfortable co-existence, undergirded I believe by a mutual love and respect. I often fret these days that the big, loud wretched issues that divide people in general are too overwhelming for love to overcome. It helps to revisit literary creations like Downton Abbey occasionally to remind ourselves that the struggle between harmony and division is a long running one. To give up on the struggle is to give up on the best part of ourselves…and deprive ourselves of the joy that comes from reconciliation. 

Below is the climatic scene from Maggie Smith’s final appearance in Downton Abbey. I doubt I could’ve written a better scene for our own Dowager Countess Betty….

Stuck inside this country

Sent inside forever

Never seeing no one

Cruel again

Like you, Donald

You, Donald

Youuuuuuu

If we ever take over here

Thought of hoarding it all away

For my registered charity

All we need is the rubes to play

If we ever take over here

All we need is the rubes to play

(If we ever take over here)

Well, the vote exploded with a mighty crash

As night fell into the sun

And the Oz one said to the Masters one there

"I thought this would be fun"

GOP on the run, GOP on the run

And the DOJ and FBI

Were searching Trump’s abode

For the GOP on the run, GOP on the run

For the GOP on the run, GOP on the run

Well, the Fox News anchor drew a heavy sigh

Seeing no red tide had come

And a bell was ringing in the village square

For the traitors on the run

GOP on the run, GOP on the run

And the DOJ and FBI

Were searching Trump’s abode

For the GOP on the run, GOP on the run

Yeah, the GOP on the run

The GOP on the run

GOP on the run

GOP on the run

Well, the night was falling as the vote counting

Began to settle down

On the right they're searching for blame everywhere

But it never will be learned

GOP on the run, GOP on the run

And the county clerk who was no jerk

Won’t counts vote ever more

Cuz the GOP’s on the run, the GOP’s on the run

The GOP’s on the run (yeah)

The GOP’s on the run (yeah)

 

Alas, poor Democracy! I knew it.

I’m here to say that the wisdom that comes with getting older is almost enough to compensate for the unmistakable slowing of the mind…almost. For an immediate instance, I still vividly recall struggling to memorize for a high school class assignment in my junior year Hamlet’s soliloquy. Right off the bat it was a challenge of vocabulary. What the hell’s a soliloquy? And then deeper what? Consummation, contumely, mortal coil…bare bodkin! What did it all mean? I just barely managed to string the words together to pass the memorization assignment, forget the meaning. Now the meaning is all too clear…and poignant: to go on living or not. 

Before anyone rushes to call 911, I’m not talking life or death literally here (though that day may come). I’m talking figuratively about myself in regards to the possible results of the 2022 Midterm Elections. If the election denying, pro-insurrectionist, authoritarian friendly, anti-democracy party gains control of the House of Representatives, do I want to continue to be a good citizen? To my mind being a good citizen includes staying informed and involved in the affairs of the nation. I’ve been that way as far back as I can remember, sitting as a boy next to my father in front of our grainy black and white TV watching the Army-McCarthy hearings. I’ve been an avid consumer of news and political developments ever since. It is fair to say that has been an essential part of my identity. But this looming election has me seriously considering shedding that part of my identity. Turning off the news. Going dark when it comes to the happenings in the world outside. Cocooning myself in a thoroughly comfortable bubble that my privileged life avails me. 

To be, or not to be: that is the question:

Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer

The slings and arrows of  outrageous fortune ,

Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,

And by opposing end them? To die: to sleep;

No more; and by a sleep to say we end

The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks

That flesh is heir to, ’tis a consummation

Devoutly to be wish’d. To die, to sleep;

I’ve spent an inordinate part of my life taking up arms against various seas of trouble--first as a student then as a citizen activist and a lifelong commenter on American society*. And though my opposition didn’t always “end them”, I always felt that my opposition was the right and worthy thing for me to do. There was always the belief that one good thing would lead to another…that each strong effort would inch us closer to that more perfect union. 

If this election goes as polling suggests, that belief will be dead, replaced by the belief that American democracy has been permanently broken. There will be no news worth following after that. Indeed the news of the anti-democratic vandals running wild in the halls of government will be so distressing…so depressing…that it could only hasten confronting the To be or not to be question at its literal, existential level.    

What will be the cost of ending the heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks? What would be the price of walling off news of the outside world? On the most ridiculous and trivial level, the next time an SUV drives by me declaring some insider stupidity on a bumper sticker like Let’s Go Brandon, I won’t know what it means. On a more serious, consequential level, the next time a virus sweeps through the land, I will be unprepared. Worse, I’ll be vulnerable to encounters with more “informed” morons at pharmacies telling me I have to fight the virus by swallowing bleach because “The President says so.”

Going into society without some grounding in the most basic news is a bit like walking into freeway traffic with a paper bag over your head. Whatever peace of mind you may achieve by ignoring the news could very well be offset by a real threat to your life. Still, as I sit here writing this…actually thinking this through on paper…I really don’t know how I’m going to react to those election results a week from now. To be or not to be an informed, engaged citizen is the question.

* Here   Here  Here  Here....for example

On a recent Friday night I sat down in front of my big screen with no little trepidation to invite Blonde, the new Netflix film about Marilyn Monroe, into my home. Was this biopic directed by Andrew Dominik based on a decades’ old novel by Joyce Carol Oates really as God awful as professional reviewers and legions of social media critics had led me to believe? 

It was not. It was, to be sure, awfully long (Full disclosure: I watched it in two sittings, which is not an indictment of this film. The length of most movies these days tests my endurance.) The length of Blonde is somewhat justified because the film is mythic in substance, style and vision. Coincidently it’s only 2 minutes longer than a similarly bold and challenging biopic from 1988 that it most resembles —Martin Scorsese’s The Last Temptation of Christ.  

Though Scorsese’s film (based on a novel of the same name by Nikos Kazantzakis) had a more favorable critical reception, it too stirred negative passions. Talk radio, the social media of the time, devoted hours to condemning it; Christian churches organized boycotts against it; Blockbuster, the motherlode of home video, refused to carry it. There are numerous other similarities between the two films. Both contain jarring cinematic choices.  While Blonde features a talking fetus, Last Temptation offers a talking snake; where Blonde gives us a view up Marilyn’s vagina, Last Temptation treats us to Jesus sticking a hand through his flesh and pulling out his heart; Jesus gags at the smell of Lazarus’s body, Marilyn sticks her head in a toilet; both films present what have been labeled as gratuitous displays of flesh. 

Most scandalously, Last Temptation, has Jesus enter the bedroom of Mary Magdalene where she reclines on her bed after a day of servicing her customers. In Blonde Marilyn enters JFK’s bedroom, where the president reclines on his bed conducting state business. Magdalene challenges Jesus to have sex with her; JFK orders Marilyn to give him a blow job. Jesus, the apostle of the spirit, declines Mary’s challenge. Marilyn the apostle of the flesh submits to JFK. In both instances the strength of each is perverted. Jesus is mocked by his spiritualism and Marilyn is humiliated by her sensuality.  

Most importantly both films at their very outset proclaim their fictional identity and fairly warn audiences to go elsewhere for factuality. Why that is so important is that the artistry involved in them is myth making—not journalism or history or even gossip. They are myth making in the classic sense…Jesus/God of the spirit; Marilyn/Goddess of the flesh. Both mythic figures have taken on a life burden—not of their own choosing—to suffer for humanity. It’s a heavy, often grim burden, which is reflected in the persona of each mythic figure, neither of which is portrayed with much lightness and mirth. How could they be? They are both consumed by questions of personal identity and purpose. We all are haunted by these questions to one degree or another, of course, but these two serve as our proxies in searching for the answers. 

Both characters have to battle their own duality. Jesus in the beginning is a carpenter who makes crosses for the Romans to crucify Jews, and he recoils at being a Messiah out of fear and confusion over what it would mean. Marilyn clings to the identity of Norma Jeane, resisting…almost abhorring…the manifestation of herself as Marilyn Monroe and the high price of that.  

These two intertwining myths both focus on finding answers in their fathers. Their mothers bear mute or ineffectual witness to their lives as both these children go off in maddening quest for atonement with their fathers. Both have fitful contact with their fathers where they have momentary clarity on what’s expected of them and when the day of atonement might arrive. But both endure heartbreaking anguish that leave them with nothing left to do but cry out, “Father why hath thou forsaken me?”

Along their mythic journey the God and the Goddess frustrate and disappoint their followers by some of the choices they make. We want them to make the right ones…for us…to satisfy our needs and desires and make us feel hopeful about our own fate. We want Jesus to lift up the Jews, vanquish the Romans, miracle himself off the cross; we want Marilyn to win Oscars, have the athlete/author husband, a gaggle of supportive girlfriends, and happy children—-to have it all. The myth reveals the struggle in all that…the suffering and sacrifice it takes, the ultimate disappointment,. This is why there’s such a thing as the Stations of the Cross…this is why Blonde will not be the last reenactment of the Marilyn Monroe story, nor should it be.

Near the end of Last Temptation of Christ, Jesus who has fantasized on the cross about choosing domestic bliss over crucifixion, encounters Saul/Paul telling the story of Jesus the Messiah in a town square. Jesus confronts him, and angrily tells him that he has it all wrong, that he didn’t die on the cross, he’s not the Messiah. Saul/Paul replies, I tell the story now. If I need you to be crucified, you’ll be crucified; if need you to be resurrected you’ll be resurrected. As it is with Jesus, so it is with Marilyn.

The producers of Blonde, like much of the country, could not have anticipated that the US Supreme Court would go completely off the rails and overturn Roe v. Wade just as their film was being released. As it is, with all that they’ve taken on with this provocative movie, they also have to contend with justifiably heightened sensitivities about the issue of abortion. This has imposed a social/political assessment of the film based on current events, which is never good for art.  As a pro choice voter, I found the film to be no more anti-choice than, say, Rosemary’s Baby, was pro-life. Filmmakers should be allowed to use whatever metaphors, symbols, analogies necessary to tell their stories. When Marilyn is seen lamenting her abortions…indeed when the talking fetus arrives on scene to scold her for her abortions…the lament is for her own painful uprootedness…for the way she was ripped from “the womb” of a happy home with loving parents. If expressing that kind of pain and regret does not fit a political agenda, perhaps the political agenda should be edited rather than the movie. 

Finally, this brief for Blonde would be amiss if amidst this myth-making dialectic, I made no mention of the the film’s most stunningly pure movie making strength…the performance of Ana de Amas as Norma Jeane/Marilyn. De Armas is in nearly every scene of this epic length film and is alternately luminous and mesmerizing throughout. It is the best reanimation of a historical figure since Daniel Day Lewis raised Abraham Lincoln from the dead. 

Night time passage through a lock on the Rhine
One morning this past May Lorna asked me what I thought we should do for our anniversary. Since our anniversary is in September, I responded simply and flatly, “Way too early.” That did not go over well. She didn’t actually articulate her displeasure, but after 54 years of marriage words are sometimes superfluous. And no words at all can hang over a household like a coming due balloon payment, as did hers that morning. Nonetheless, at lunch we took up our usual Monday routine of watching the previous night’s edition of 60 Minutes, which we had been doing in real time or recorded time since we got back from our Bermuda honeymoon in 1968, a week before CBS’s iconic clock made its first tick. This particular edition featured a segment on German tenor Jonas Kaufmann, who, shame to say, neither of us had ever heard. We are not philistines. We’ve taken in all the opera PBS has had to offer over the years and have even ventured out for live performances of The Barber of Seville and La bohème. Yet we were ignorant of Kaufmann’s existence until we heard him sing a few first notes on a TV news magazine. Then we immediately turned and looked at each other with eyes full of sudden discovery. Moreover I was struck by this grandiose idea for lifting the cloud of my morning blunder. I would find where Kaufmann was performing as close to our Vista home as possible and buy tickets as a surprise anniversary gift. 
Vaduz, Lichtenstein. That was it…the capital city of the fifth smallest country in the world, 6,000 miles away. It seemed preposterous, but by then I was so swept up in the romanticism of it all that I bought two tickets for Kaufmann’s appearance on August 25 at an outdoor venue in the shadow of Vaduz Castle. And at that point the hoary in for a penny, in for a pound adage came into play and we decided to tack on a Rhine River cruise to check a long standing item off Lorna’s bucket list. 
Ideally we would’ve flown into Amsterdam to start the cruise. It would’ve ended in Basel, Switzerland, where we would’ve spent a few days before pushing on to our concert approximately three hours away by combination of train and bus. Unfortunately for us the cruise from Amsterdam to Basel was booked, so the only thing we could do to accommodate our concert schedule was start the cruise in Basel, end it in Amsterdam, and then reverse course to get to the concert. That should’ve been fairly simple. It’s a ninety minute flight from Amsterdam to Basel, but at the time of the planning Amsterdam’s Airport Schiphol was ground zero for the globe’s air traffic crisis and flights were being cancelled at such an alarming rate that a 10-and-a-half hour train ride instead didn’t seem so bad. Besides…a train ride through Germany and Switzerland…how much more romantic could it get? 
The entire trip got off to an unsettling start when our shuttle ride to the airport failed to appear. When we called the company, they couldn’t find our driver. We gave it 45 minutes and when there was no further word on our ride, we took our car and paid for airport parking…three times the cost of the shuttle ride, for which we have yet to see a refund (consumer outrage would follow, but that’s another story). Of course the threat of Covid hangs over every travel plan these days, especially cruises. But when we first booked, Viking’s protocols were as stringent and as comforting as one could ask for. Lab tests required 48 prior to the flight from home, tests before boarding the boat, tests each morning on the boat and masks all day every day. By the time of our actual departure, however, the protocols had completely changed. Tests and masks had become optional. 
That wasn’t the only source of uneasiness. One of the great attractions of making the trip at this particular time was the chance to get away from America and its ongoing political danse macabre. Much to our dismay the first three nights on the cruise found us at dinner tables with travelers from Florida and Texas. Each in turn who upon hearing we were from California launched into face-to-face Twitter-like rants about Gavin Newsom and California taxes. Depressingly in these luxurious surroundings on this historic river far away from the troubles of home they wanted to pursue their political agenda. I felt as if we had booked ourselves onto a floating CPAC convention. 
And yet we persisted. The day trips were not just an escape but the stuff of fantasy…a glorious four-hour e-bike ride to the Black Forest, a walking tour through beautiful Strasbourg, Speyer in a gentle rain with a guide from central casting…an aging, thickly accented actress holding onto her looks and flair for all she was worth. 
En route to
the Black Forest

Strasbourg has a Cathedral...imagine that. 
In SpeyerThe gentle rain notwithstanding, when we returned to the boat we learned that the Rhine had become so dry from the ongoing drought that a sandbar made further voyage upriver impossible. We would have to totally disembark the boat and take a six-hour bus ride around the affected area to join another boat from the Viking fleet in Dusseldorf. That went better than smooth. En route I overheard the fellow in the seat across the aisle from me say he was from Chino, California. I said to him, "I can't believe another Californian. I thought everyone on this trip was from Florida or Texas." He immediately replied, "You mean the two states trying to kill our democracy?" We hugged and bonded instantly. 
From Dusseldorf the tour resumed with a bike ride in Cologne, another to the Kinderdijk windmills, and a blessedly more diversified selection of dinner companions through to Amsterdam. Bending to the concert date, the Amsterdam stay would have to be a quick in and out. Fortunately we met up with Nick Emlen, the son of some of our dearest and oldest New England friends. Nick had lived and taught there for 15 years and with his little son Leo helped navigate us through a busy day on foot. It was not lost on us that after three bike rides en route we would be passing on bikes in one of the most vibrant bike riding cities on earth. But we did manage to take a boat ride through the canals and stroll through the red light district so we at least got a touch of the Amsterdam experience. 
We almost missed our train to Basel, however—saved only by the kindness of a stranger. She was standing behind us on the platform at the Amsterdam train station and heard us about to get on the wrong train. She informed us that our train was running late and would be along shortly. When it arrived she thoughtfully shepherded us onboard, where we took our seats across a table from two millennials, a male and a female. For the first four hours of the six hour trip, their faces were buried in their devices (ahem...as were ours). It occurred to me how the existence of such devices would’ve prevented the unfolding of some of the most iconic stories in cinema…like Stagecoach and The Lady Vanishes. Strangers on a Train would have remained strangers on a train. 
Traveling light (!) awaiting the train to Basel
Our splendid isolation was broken by a muffled message over the intercom. The young man looked up to explain that our train could not go all the way to Basel as scheduled due to technical difficulties. He gave a rueful laugh as he added that the German train system was always a mess. This was disorienting to my American ears which had been raised on praise for German efficiency. The bigger revelation, though, came from the heretofore quiet young woman. She revealed herself as Spanish and a cello player in a trio. A Swiss woman had heard the trio play in Spain and was bringing them to Basel for a private performance for her birthday. What’s more, the young woman told us, she had played in an orchestra that backed up Jonas Kaufmann on his most recent Spanish tour. The night she would be playing the birthday party, we would be attending his concert, which she assured us we would love. The brief bond we formed helped us all manage the unplanned stop and make our way in timely fashion to Basel. 
Basel was another quickie, but satisfying. We dined overlooking the Rhine; met Glennis and Steve Smith, a delightfully engaging couple from Colorado; and watched as dozens of people floated down river on inner tubes! Later in our hotel room we were serenaded (though that’s probably not the right word) by a rock band performing from a platform on the river. It was a most incongruous prelude to the night that would follow. That was night of Kaufmann concert of course. We began with a pre-concert drink at a sidewalk cafe, where we were introduced to our first ever Hugo…a sparkling, refreshing cocktail mx of Prosecco, elderflower syrup, mint and lime. It was made all the more enjoyable by the sound of an American accent at the table of six ladies next to us. Daring to tempt another outbreak of California animus, we extended greetings and were rewarded. The international group of friends was also there for the Kaufmann concert. They were giddy with excitement, and I think it not unkind to call them Jonas groupies. 
The concert itself was the greatest reward. Before it began, we encountered John and Gail Massaro from Phoenix. It turned out that John, a musician/conductor, and Gail, a soprano, had founded the Phoenix Opera Company, which has been one of the very few companies in the US to host Jonas Kaufmann as a guest performer. Serendipity continued to be the motif of the trip. As for Kaufmann himself, in addition to his clear, rich voice, like all great singers he is a gifted actor, and this night he commanded the stage with both his voice and his body. When he eased into his signature piece, Puccini’s Nessun Dorma, the star high expectations that had arisen out of that 60 Minutes interview were met and then surpassed. 
Jonas Kaufmann at work
Physically spent and culturally sated, we boarded a train the next day to conclude our travels with a visit to Genoa with our Italian child Manu and her parents Renzo and Rosalba Parodi. We’d been to Italy so often it was like a homecoming….a little more so than necessary this time. Once again politics reared its ugly head as our amici were in deep trepidation about Italy’s upcoming election (and with good reason as it turned out). We overcame our mutual angst with the only defenses at our disposal…wine, pizza, the world’s best pesto and mutual bonhomie. 
With the Parodis
Five trains, four planes, three boats, two cabs, two buses, a tram, and a shuttle that never arrived…logistical anxieties and lucky breaks. Meals that were sublime; meals that were not. Sights we’ll never forget; experiences we’ll long remember. Random travelers we wished had stayed home; others we will be forever grateful for crossing paths with us. Approximately $15,000 in total. As Lorna said, “That was the most expensive episode of 60 Minutes we ever watched.” As next year’s anniversary looms ahead, I comfort myself with some Puccini:
Tramontate, stelle! Tramontate, stelle! All'alba vincerò! Vincerò! Vincerò!*                                                    —Nessun Dorma, Puccini 



 *Set, stars! Set, stars! I'll win at dawn! I will win! I will win!

The picture of happiness...Meagan, Manu, Dan, Gillian, Lorna

Inspired by this old Nob listing some of the many things that make me happy, I recently invited family and friends to contribute a list of things that made them happy. After yesterday's dire happenings, I'm more than happy to present the following responses...

Joanne Gendron

Just so happy I made the list with John and Mike

Dennis Carroll

Being in touch with both of you makes us happy.  

Getting your get well card after I told you about Carol's hip replacement made us happy.  

We tell one another every day how lucky we are to have one another and Matt. 

And smiles in the mirror remind me of my happiness at being alive.

Vic SmithGood music and world peace.·         A world where our children and grandchildren will thrive.·         A profound redistribution of wealth and power throughout the world resulting in the end of hunger.·         An effective non-nuclear treaty and WMD with all nations participating.·         Cures for cancer, Alzheimer’s, Parkinson’s, and genetically based disease.·         More positive and effective roles for the UN including coordination of pandemic responses.·         End of chemical pollution.·         Reduction of our carbon footprint.·         A life without physical pain.

Robin BoisvertIf you had asked me to do this experiment before the pandemic the majority of my list, would have included others, and I have included those.  They have not happened in awhile, the memory makes me smile.  Which led me down a funny little path.  Thousands of smile memories. 

Choosing ten from the running list, a bit difficult.  A tiny edge of a huge picture.  

I decided to list the very first, as this could have gone on all night and into the next day.  Just before I started typing, I woke up early just as the sun came up.   I checked the black eyed peas I left soaking, they look great.  Smile.
Five lobster boats with their green and red lights on went by heading out of the harbor. A big smile. ( a favorite site)  The champagne bottle on the island from last night, smile. Shadows on the white walls from the sun, smile.

My list of things that make me smile

Walking down the stairs and seeing Brian in his usual morning spot with a cup of joe
Scent of coffee meeting me at the stair landing
The shine on the stove after I cleaned it
dinner with friends, lunch with friends, friends
coming into the house after a long walk in the winter, warm and peace greeting you
spying a pod of dolphins
Brunch on Dear Prudence, Lunch on Dear Prudence, Cocktails on Dear Prudence
Rocking a baby
music
setting a pretty table 
music
first top down ride
walking, walking again
the scent of pine and salt air
Holding hands -together like peanut butter and jelly
that last goodnight after making love

Our family, every time they call, face time, zoom, 

What I miss most that makes me smile, is the sound of tires crunching in the drive. The slam of the car door.  Company!  Company in all shapes and sizes makes me smile.

The list could roll off the table, head out the door and down the drive.  

Thanks for the awareness nudge.  Did I mention chick-a-dees?  The fox that is so healthy helping me with the squirrel issue?  Fried clams?  I love fried clams.  The littlest in our family Eleanor?  When Ben our grandson calls ?


Ginny Bromagethe health of all my children, grandchildren, extended family and friends (as well as my health)the effort we’ve all made to allow family times during COVID--both live (distanced) or on Zoomthat my children are still employed and able to provide for their familiesscreeching grandchildren, running to greet me (distanced and masked) to give me an air hugthe warm spring, summer, fall (and occasional winter) days this year allowing me nourishing bike ridesloyal friends who’ve gathered together in socially distanced activities to keep me sane the past 10 monthsall the essential workers who’ve made the effort to keep our lives feeling “normal” the researchers and scientists who’ve worked tirelessly to develop COVID vaccines to speed our return to normalcymy comfortable lifestyle when so many others are sufferinga new president heading to the White House on January 20

Dave McNamaraMy “kids”.  My grandchildren. The feeling of skates on the ice;  sound of skates on the ice;  gliding on the ice; stopping on the ice; flying on the ice; the smell of the ice;  a pass; a shot;  Sunrise. Walking in the rain - a cool rain. Walking in the snow.  Jumping into mounds of soft, fresh, snow.  Making snow angels.  Skiing Mammoth from top to bottom when I can count the number of people on less than hand. Self-reflection;  Not self-reflecting. Seeing nobody;   An interesting person. True friends. Starting a backpacking trip; Reaching a mountain pass; Reaching a campsite;  Ending a backpacking trip Starting a bread; Eating fresh bread. Making any yeast-based dough, seeing it come to life and then eating it (croissants, pizzas, breads, brioche, etc…)  Cooking a good meal; Eating the meal; Not having to clean up. Porter -- my current canine family member. Porter -- the beer.    The memories of Kona, Bailey, Bear, Kodi, Melanie (all of my canine family members since I was 12). The sounds of only nature. Music. Having a proper pint with my kids. Being woken up in the middle of the night. Woodworking

Eileen McDargh

Running in the morning when the moon is still up and watching the sunrise

Watching the sunset

Feeding my birds

Sitting outside by my fire pit

Snuggling with my bill

Planting my garden

Being with my grandchildren

Spending time with Lorna Riley. And yes when I get to see you, you to Dan

Being quiet

Doing a four minute plank

Hearing my bill laugh

Doing random acts of kindness

When my work makes a contribution.

When I’m finally writing.

    
Meagan Riley Grant*Getting to the other side of a hard thing. (*I think sometimes happiness is confused with comfort but I have found when I am truly my "happiest" is when I have done something hard and gotten to the other side. I could just leave it at this one answer.) 
Connecting with someone I haven't heard from in a long time. 
Looking at pictures - reliving memories.End of the day walk with Andrew and the dogs around our little "island."Working on a project I like and am excited about bringing to life. Excellent coffee in an excellent cup. Blue skies and 78 degrees. Playing board games with the family. Seeing new things. Learning new things. Meeting new people.SerendipitySleepingThe fact no one in my family has gotten covid. Being on the water.Eating good food. (Especially after being really hungry - getting to the other side of a hard thing...) Traveling.Laughing. VacationsChristmasNew YearsWorking in slippers. Great skin care products.Living in Marin and in California, and in the United States. Hearing about my kids plans, hopes and dreams and thoughts on the world. Getting into a great new book or movie or series..  Trump leaving office.People talking about race relations, sexual harassment and equal pay in a new significant way.

Lorna RileyObviously, this is in no particular order, but a stream of consciousness about what makes me happy. I could go on and on. Really, infinitely. There’s plenty that’s not here, but this is my little world now so it reflects that.   Remy. He’s an old soul who catches my breath and fills my heart with awe. He is channeling something unworldly.Nico. His zest for life, quick smile, big heart, and knowing what he wants. He will go far in life.Mama Gillian who has turned her life into magic, made me so proud, and has saved me over and over again.Meagan, my first born who made my heart infinitely bigger and taught me how far love could go.Dan, who I love with all my heart and want to hang out with every day because he’s considerate, thoughtful, smart, funny, interesting, and our time is way too short.Dan making me breakfast on Sunday mornings.Sendings texts to Dan addressed to My Luv.My children’s and grandchildren’s laughter.Stretching with Dan in the AM to get the day started right.Bike riding with Dan, swapping titles and stories about the books we listen to.Breathing. Deeply.  Blue skies, 74 degrees, and wind on my face.Succulents, for their dazzling variety and resilience with no life support.A new car smell.Avery, for the beautiful, talented young woman she has become. I love zooming with her—she lights up the room.  Benjamin for his sweet soul, centeredness, doing well in tough times, and gratitude.Friends of all sorts who keep me connected to the world.Setting off in the new car on a road adventure with bikes in the back.Picnics with Dan.Eating whatever I want, when I want.Writing new on-line programs and growing my companies with energetic people half my age and big visions.Being more easy-going. Doesn’t take much to get me excited, which may drive a few people nuts.Knowing what I like and don’t like. Easier to say yes or no.Being open to new experiences no matter how daffy.Not having to wear contacts anymore. My eyes got better from all those greens.Eating healthy in spite of the extra work.A good night’s sleep. Then I love everyone.My new iPhone that connects me to the world.Doing projects with my sister, talking with her for hours about this and that.My new hard drive so that my computer flies like a 747.Technology—the good parts that make our lives easier, not the parts that are destroying it.Determined people all pulling to save Democracy and restore decency.Looking back at the bravery I conjured up to become a public speaker.Few regrets over my life choices. They all lead me to where I am now, infinitely wiser for it.Accomplishments that I never thought were in my cards, let alone my radar.My gardens, watching them grow and bloom.Browsing nurseries to marvel at such a wide variety of beautiful plants.Longwood gardens checked on the bucket list. One gasping sight after another, not to mention 1918 restaurant.Meals with friends where everyone brings something.Having found joy and meaning in my life, work, and relationships.Being with Manu, her family, and the Parodis traveling in Italy with them.Cruises to anywhere.Cooking when I’m in the mood.Cliff for his love of food and willingness to share gorgeous creations with us.Lancôme and Ester Lauder. Need I say more?Lipstick.Donations to worthwhile charities.Sharing our vast space with others.Walking--when I’m done with it.Yoga, when I’m finished.A hot bath when I’m cold.Reconnecting with old friends, picking up the pieces as if no time as passed
When I see people wearing masks over their noses.The future. It looks bright and I want to be a part of it.

L
Last week the lovable Weird Al posted the following on Twitter:

I was immediately struck how Al's story paralleled one of my own, as I chronicled here. So, yeah, you can call me Al.

My own voice... Now Playing Black Panther