It’s April. Everything is new again. I notice that many people cite May as their favorite month, and May is wonderful of course–but I like April better. So many buds, and a lot of flowers already up, and the vibrating newness of pale green that Robert Frost has a poem about. Go out and experience April if you haven’t yet!

Spring in New York always reminds me of a certain Spring evening when I was young. I had just finished a babysitting gig and gotten paid, and I walked home down Riverside Drive in the fresh Spring air, comfortable in my T-shirt, in my skin. Maybe it was the first moment in my life that I really appreciated the season, or the city, or the notion that I was independent or would be, one day soon. Probably it was all of it at once, mingling to create a soft, blissful satisfaction. There were white tulips in the tree boxes, fragrant, reflecting the moonlight. Funny how so much can happen in a distance of only ten blocks; that night, to fifteen-year-old me, it felt like a transformation.

In subsequent years I’ve been transformed again in Spring. Not every year. But some years. Seeing the trees in bloom can do it–I recommend the cherry walk, also in the Riverside Drive area (at 95th or 96th Street), or the cherry trees all over downtown Jersey City that fill the gutters with pink petals. Or just sniff around, literally, and stop when you smell something beautiful. Gardens are around every corner.

HELLOOOOO (and drawings)

Hi, blog reader! It’s been a while.

For some time I’ve been meaning to post these drawings I made in May 2020, around the time I last wrote here. A friend was soliciting animal artwork, for the shelter where she worked. They held an auction and some of these pieces went to new homes! I don’t know which ones.

Looking at them now, I am quite pleased with the fineness and detail.


Two nights ago I didn’t sleep. It was the noise: choppers, bullhorns, small explosions. A voice screaming, “Stay together!” Sirens. More choppers. The windows at my temporary house were flung wide open. With my still-weak lungs, the fresh air makes it easier to breathe. I was gulping down the air and listening. The sounds of a falling civilization.

Last night I slept, aided by a long playlist of forest SFX. Rain and owls blended with sirens and cracks and shouts in my dreams. I think I’m recovering. My symptoms are easing, ever so slightly. Having been awake two days and a night, I didn’t need my sedative.

Tonight, will I sleep? I don’t know if I will want to.

My heart is with all who are out there marching, defying curfew, and staying together.


My kimono with its Natori Classics label showing.

No, I said to myself in admonishment. I was attempting to wash the dishes in my kimono, and of course the sleeves were getting wet and in the way. No, do NOT wear a kimono whilst doing housework! Don’t you understand that a kimono is for relaxing??? People like you shouldn’t be allowed to even have a kimono. I was tough but fair.

For the past week I have been living in a big empty house belonging to a client. I’m not working. They just invited me to stay, as I continue to convalesce, and this has done wonders for my mental health so far. As I write this the sun is coming out and shining brilliantly on the garden deck. I’m not being messy; rather, I clean obsessively out of gratitude. But I have to keep reminding myself, sternly, that I’m NOT at work (unless you count my creative work, which has been a joy to resume lately). The kimono, just the sight of it sometimes, helps remind me. Remember in ANNIE (1982) when she gets to the Warbucks mansion and, asked what she’d like to do first, says, like, “Um, I guess I’ll start with the windows, then I can do the floors…” and they all laugh at her? It feels weird not to be working, by which I mean laboring.

This kimono is one of my favorite garments. I found it in brand-new condition at Beacon’s Closet two or three years ago, with tags still on it. It’s a large-size men’s kimono and was much too long for me, so I had it altered at Jerri’s Cleaners on Sixth Avenue and they did such a quick, beautiful job! The sleeves are wide, comically so. You really CANNOT do dishes while wearing it.

I wonder when they will finish that house on 11th Street (front entrance is on 10th).

12 Angry Men of the Zodiac

Seeewwww, I tweeted awhile back that it would be funny if somebody did this, and then I realized *I* could do it! Hope you enjoy.

Of course, 12 ANGRY MEN stans, it’s much more likely that this jury contained a couple zodiac repeats, with a sign or two left out, than that each of the twelve slotted perfectly into a place on the wheel. But I found it an interesting challenge to force all of them into signs since there are twelve of them. (And hey, if you’re feeling generous you can allow for rising signs and other prominent placements.) Bonus audio below, and below each picture.

JUROR 1 (Martin Balsam): Virgo

JUROR 2 (John Fiedler): Cancer

JUROR 3 (Lee J. Cobb): Leo

JUROR 4 (E.G. Marshall): Capricorn

JUROR 5 (Jack Klugman): Scorpio

JUROR 6 (Edward Binns): Taurus

JUROR 7 (Jack Warden): Sagittarius

JUROR 8 (Henry Fonda): Libra

JUROR 9 (Joseph Sweeney): Pisces

JUROR 10 (Ed Begley): Aries

JUROR 11 (George Voskovec): Aquarius

JUROR 12 (Robert Webber): Gemini

My last thought is that I hope this inspires some people to watch the movie who have never seen it before. Even with all these spoilers, it is eminently worth your time. xox