and, to counter my last post?

A day chock-full of cool people. 

An interview with a pal who has carved out an interesting, expansive career in arts and education. 

Skyping with a smart, enthusiastic young woman who is trying to figure out her path. 

HH with new colleagues who have varied backgrounds and amazing backstories (complicated families, big choices, huge cultural events in their past.), with whom I'll be working over the next year on a big project. 

Plus, a full house back at Casa Rahree. 

Well played, Thursday. Well. Played.

p.s. this song has been in my head all day. I don't know why. But I'm sharing.


a post in which i whine and bitch. (and also, evidently, rhyme.)

Ya'll, I'm tired.

And the audition tour hasn't happened yet.

Granted, I'm tired because there are a million awesome things going on...I was given the very heady opportunity to speak at my alma mater (cross that one off the bucket list!), and I started a program that will challenge me and get me more involved in my community. (Best thing? It's all new to me - people, concepts, all of it. It's a little opportunity for reinvention without having to move/switch jobs/create an alias.) I saw this last night (I have a bit of a conflicted relationship with the composer, but thought the performance was faboo.) and finally, after a nine-day-hiatus, got my flabby ass back to the gym.

(Wasn't pretty.)

I'm reminded that, when things get busy, it's so easy to lose discipline. (I don't think it's just me.)

And I'm also reminded that, when I lose discipline for longer periods of time, I feel like crapola.  Like a tub full of lukewarm crapola.

So today. We had a soft start to our audition season with colleagues at a local company. I had a decent lunch, and then I got a cookie the size of my face. And I ate it. And, obviously, I enjoyed the hell out of it.

My colleague is pursuing structure, discipline this fall. She eschewed the cookie. She went to the gym after work. After she left the office. To bike. To the gym. Because she is hardcore.

I clicked through to some photos of this past weekend, and realized that my chins have multiplied. Without me noticing, somehow.

(Now, this is not about size. It's about me not being happy about where I am, and not realizing how far off the mark I was until I saw proof...uncomposed, spontaneous photographic proof.)

So. New 30-day project will commence. No more eating trash that makes me feel like poo. Exercise. And - here's the kicker - planning for those things EVEN WHEN TRAVELING. I won't be able to do it 100%, but damn, I'm gonna try.

And yes. Leading by example works, even if you don't intend to lead. Many thanks to Ethel for getting Lucy's butt back to the gym.


a tribute.

With very little notice, we headed to Pennsylvania. My husband's uncle had passed away. My mother-in-law's only living brother, the patriarch of a branch of the family that specialized in strong, savvy girls and quietly smart, sweet men.

Joe's high school nickname was "Giggles."
Joe told his wife daily that she beautiful as any movie star.
Joe worked for GM for thirty years.
Joe served in the Army in World War II.

His family laid him to rest on a sunny Monday, Labor Day, and one of the celebrated dates of V-J Day. (The day the surrender document was signed.) As the procession wound its way from the funeral home, through the neighborhood where he lived, to the cemetary, his fellow vets stood - on their porches, their stoops, in their driveways - at attention as the cars drove by. The respect conveyed by that gesture? I'm not sure I've seen its equal, and I have no words to describe.

In our selfish, self-centered age, to see a thoroughly selfless man celebrated? To see family-- duty-- small daily acts of love valued in such a profound way?  Humbling is only the very tip of the iceberg. And there could never be celebration enough.

My heart goes out to his wife of 65 years, his daughters and their families. I'm so amazed at the eloquence with which his granddaughter and grandson spoke. And I'll be thinking of them - and of him - for a long time.

Rest in peace, Joseph Wolk. It was a real honor to know you and to be welcomed into your family.