Tuesday muse

I wrote a poem today, which is noteworthy ('s been awhile), so here it is:

November, Kebo

The gulls have retaken the golf course.
Against the fairway—still verdant, just a hint of rust—
they convene, white as doves.
Above them, black geese depart in the distant V.
The gulls bunch together—audience, tribe,
a town meeting, with something to decide.

NBR 11/29/05

I started writing poetry when I was 11. These things just surge up from some muse-mediated place, and I transcribe them—that's what it feels like. I decided today that this blog would be a good vehicle for the poetry that languishes unread on my hard drive. Here's hoping it doesn't scare people away [insert nervous laughter...poets are anxious beings.]

This is the year of the slippery catalogs. Somehow, the mailing lists have found us in droves...every day, our mailbox is stuffed fuller than a butterball. I weed out the overly outdoorsy, old-lady, or sporty ones, but somehow I feel compelled to flip through the others, even though I've no intention of purchasing their goods!! I guess I never let go of the years when a magazine felt like an extravagance (I made a cool $8000 a year in my first job). So free reading with colorful pics seems like a good deal, somewhere deep in my psyche. Ultimately, though, reading through them dulls the senses—they make everyday life even more banal, like looking through a window where nothing ever happens.

Turkey Grease

This was a week with much thanks to give. My father-in-law is recovering from major (mostly successful) heart surgery—and my mother-in-law is recovering too, in her way, from the shake-up of her partner's illness and reemergence. Meanwhile, Pete, the kids and I met our newest family member: 3-month-old Alex, son of Pete's older brother Dave. Then Pete and I saw a hottttt John Mayer Trio show at the Bowery Ballroom, two years to the very day since our first JM show at Madison Square Garden—and got to hang out with JoAnn, Jocelyn, and other friends old and new. We spent Turkey Day with my brother's family in NJ, and his m-i-l cooked a feast for the 7 kids and 8 adults in attendance (it even included octopus and ham!). I was immersed in city life for a few days, which is a great reminder of who I am fully (since I am of NY), as well as why I have embraced the northlands. I mean, America! All those lights ablaze at all hours! Multitude of vehicles, bigass stores and restaurants everywhere, crisscrossing routes all to get you from A to B, constant flow of people on the sidewalk! And Asian cuisine abounding, which I ate at every opportunity. (Fave restaurant name on this trip: Yum Mee.) Maine is radically not like that.

Still, America's a nice place to visit, and we all did, happily. 

 

BTW, hooray for hotels with floaty down pillows and duvets. Ahhhhhh. I don't even have those at home!
 

Came home tonight to relieved cats, crusty snow on the lawn, and a cranking furnace (another thing to be thankful for). Not to mention the excitement of getting back on the 'net after a week—where I found that one of my cousins had sent me precious scanned images of my mom as a girl, pics I'd never seen before. I received them on what would have been Mom's 73rd birthday.

And that was the other blessing about being in the city—I felt Mom's presence there, in the glittery, boxy buildings at night and walking the sidewalks of Herald Square in the wan sunshine. One night last week, actually, I dreamt I saw her again...I was incredulous, and she was nonplussed (classic Mom). We talked, I took her hand, and I really felt her clutching my hand in the dream. God, it felt good, familiar—reassuring.
 

Yes, thanks. And thanks again.

Eulogy: Daniel D'Antonio, Jr.

I am honored to tell you about my closest friend, D.J., and his extraordinary life. First and foremost, he loved, fiercely and protectively.

He was outrageous and mischievous, yet in his heart, he was traditional and old-world, his father’s son.

D.J. was devoted: as a son, as a brother, as a father, and as a friend. He was generous in every way.

Time and time again, he willed me to believe in myself—and I’m not the only person for whom he did that.

I marveled over the years of our friendship at how strong and positive he was. Even when he was young, he was an advocate and a guide to his friends.

He was an incredible hair stylist—and a great listener while he practiced his craft. You could rely on him to make you over and lift your spirits.

He could make a donut shop feel glamorous, a place to see and be seen.

I can think of no better way to while away an afternoon than in his company, eating pizza, drinking soda, half-watching TV, and talking about everything.

D.J. was a magical writer, and no matter how many times I told him that, he waved me off. But he was. His writing was all heart, all honesty.

He was also a savvy observer of Hollywood, with an amazing head for trivia and pop culture. He’s the only other person I’ve ever known who could sing every word of every Partridge Family song. Proudly.

His all-time favorite movie was Xanadu. It’s improbable, glossy…a time capsule from our teen years. Mostly, though, that movie is about the timelessness of love. One of the songs says, “I only have to close my eyes, dear, and suddenly I’m where you are.” It’s always reminded me of D.J., always made me cry. Now I really know what it means.

I refuse to stop missing him, ever. And I will not say goodbye. He will be here with us, part of us, unforgettable. Because love is timeless, and he knew that.