tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55748553347889862722024-03-14T03:56:11.328-05:00In Search of...Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.comBlogger409125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-15623340386375907302023-12-30T11:31:00.005-06:002023-12-30T14:19:11.508-06:00Endings and Beginnings<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Cambria; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8RHMvndq-x1gl5nyYIniGHIAQsEmAnOPszEx-qXow0NQMvBxt-ggx9R_6PAwAgNQ2j9auBI1AjIyESp99TTXqoJeS9nOzWdsaFlRml0bxK8ei9OjufouIUbMh0XP4yeuyz3GPyOsOtYOs2uj0jaNc90fFi19GqJl2rdU7Enm9tsCpFoZw9bgbYWK2SH4/s574/Screen%20Shot%202023-12-30%20at%2012.25.47%20PM.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="217" data-original-width="574" height="121" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8RHMvndq-x1gl5nyYIniGHIAQsEmAnOPszEx-qXow0NQMvBxt-ggx9R_6PAwAgNQ2j9auBI1AjIyESp99TTXqoJeS9nOzWdsaFlRml0bxK8ei9OjufouIUbMh0XP4yeuyz3GPyOsOtYOs2uj0jaNc90fFi19GqJl2rdU7Enm9tsCpFoZw9bgbYWK2SH4/s320/Screen%20Shot%202023-12-30%20at%2012.25.47%20PM.png" width="320" /></a></div><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">2023 has felt like a runaway train that is now screeching to a halt as it nears its final destination, jerking me to and fro, as I try to regain my equilibrium and make sense of the ride. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">If I made any resolutions at the start of the year, I don’t remember them. I’m sure I also picked three words to focus on, too - my mantra, if you will, but I don’t remember those either. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No, 2023 has been a year of being in the moment, not so much out of choice as necessity. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For those who don’t know me personally, or haven’t read anything previous that referenced it, I am the caregiver for my 95-year-old father who has been at home in hospice now for a year and a half. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This trajectory began in July of 2020 and has been a roller coaster that I’m certain rivals the most extreme in the world. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It has made all plans tentative. It’s also called into serious question what plans are actually <i>worth </i>making, what goals are worth keeping, and the bigger question of why.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ve heard it said by more than one motivational/transformational teacher that if your “why” is important enough, you can accomplish anything.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In my case, the “why” has to be pretty damn ginormous for me to muster what energy and time I have left after caregiving to put towards my own personal agenda.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So what are the goals worth keeping? What dreams are worth holding fast to as 2024 approaches?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">What has 2023 been about besides caregiving? What have I accomplished? What have I created? What have I contributed? Who have I connected with or reconnected with? What joy did I revel in? How have I grown (besides in girth)? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Who am I now that I wasn’t a year ago? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For starters, when I look back on 2023, I need to remind myself that songs were written that did not exist a year ago. So were blogs, parts of new books, and pieces of a musical. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I read more books this year than in previous years, largely because I succumbed to the audio book craze, thereby doubling the volume consumed by listening as well as reading physical books. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I went to concerts. More than in most years, because those experiences are indelible and the chances to have them, fleeting.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I saw Barry Manilow, Mary Chapin Carpenter, and Kenny Loggins on his final tour, to name a few.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I got to reconnect with Henry Winkler, who has been an encourager and cheering section throughout most of my life, and whose memoir tops my list of favorites for the year, which is saying something, because I read <i>a lot </i>of memoirs. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I resumed live and virtual performances, both solo and with my band, The Inspire Project. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I found out my first real love passed away in 2022 and grieved his loss, though we hadn't been in touch in years. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I stayed connected with friends near and far, and made amends for losing touch with some whom my years of absence have hurt.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ve grappled with my own physical pain and the emotional fortitude it takes to remain steadfast in walking a loved one toward the end of their days.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ve accepted kindness offered, generosity given, and asked for help when I needed it. None of those were easy for me to do, but they have deepened relationships and grown me, because shockingly, I cannot do everything by myself, as previously attempted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So as 2023 draws to its close, I am, first and foremost, grateful that no matter how difficult this past year has been, and it <i>has </i>been hard, that the little old man in the hospital bed across from where I type this, is still here. And on rare, fully conscious moments, he expresses his love and appreciation for me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am keenly aware that my life and past year have been richly blessed by the quality of humans I surround myself with.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As for 2024, I’ve been thinking about what I can personally do to change the current shit show that is our country and world right now, because evidently, lamenting humanity’s inevitable demise doesn’t really improve our chances. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So here are my profound desires and intentions for 2024…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To be more compassionate. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To accept the uncertainty of life with grace.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To choose words and actions that emanate from kindness. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To be forgiving to others and honest with myself.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To risk boldly and dare greatly when it comes to my deepest heart’s desires.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To remind everyone I encounter of his or her own magnificence. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To speak up and out. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To laugh as much as possible.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To read more than last year. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To move my musical, songs, books, and other writing forward and usher them out into the world.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To connect one-on-one with more family and friends. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To say yes to what excites me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To say no to what I don’t really want to do, without any remorse or guilt.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To look for the joy in each day, the peace in any given moment, and the lesson in every challenge. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To remember that the only bottom line questions are – did I do my best, and did I make this world a more loving place because I was in it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Whatever your desires are, I hope 2024 exceeds your wildest expectations.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">With love and gratitude,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></span></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-46168942780976941182023-09-25T10:54:00.003-05:002023-09-25T10:56:34.629-05:00...the meaning of atonement<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n60k_fQd31-2Ph4L3SIsXV3lepcDoSlvkfYQnQrxlL5_k7KL1r64K5maRvP4v5_xxKwk1DOLAqit_8Sxb1tIwt54yLryaKPHVgK2JYMwoRaj0044xgAqi_qI5eXdBIhg67ZKxiF0ibRxVfVwK6qnuy5lRkQWUEVrd01SZHruTKEkSRjPW_6F_dpX5Eg/s179/candle.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="179" data-original-width="166" height="179" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0n60k_fQd31-2Ph4L3SIsXV3lepcDoSlvkfYQnQrxlL5_k7KL1r64K5maRvP4v5_xxKwk1DOLAqit_8Sxb1tIwt54yLryaKPHVgK2JYMwoRaj0044xgAqi_qI5eXdBIhg67ZKxiF0ibRxVfVwK6qnuy5lRkQWUEVrd01SZHruTKEkSRjPW_6F_dpX5Eg/s1600/candle.jpg" width="166" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Today is the holiday that Jews the world over refer to as the “Day of Atonement.” It’s a solemn day of fasting and prayer, with the fervent hope that we’ve not erred so greatly as to be offed, either individually or collectively, in the coming year. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ve been thinking about this ultra fear-based interpretation, and I am a believer in evolution, especially spiritual evolution.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Last week, on Rosh Hashanah, the Jewish New Year, there was one sentence during the service that jumped out at me so profoundly, that I had to write it down.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“These are the days of reflection and hope.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If ever there was something this angry world could use right now, it’s reflection and hope. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Time to put the phone down, turn the streaming shows off, the constant busyness of life, and stop. Stop to reflect. Stop to ask ourselves how we’ve shown up in the past year and if that’s really served us.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I read the word “atonement” as “at-one-ment.” To me, this day begs us to find our center again, to ground ourselves in whatever it is we believe, and to resurrect within us – hope.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Atonement means to align ourselves with where we come from, and to honor that in how we live our lives. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I believe we do that, not by cowering in the corner, but by owning our God-given power. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For too long, we have seen ourselves as small and powerless. I don’t believe the voices of hate outnumber the voices of love. I just think hate screams louder, like the schoolyard bully, and it’s time for love to stop being silent.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There is a ripple effect for goodness, for kindness, for compassion. It’s time to stop distracting ourselves and get busy with what matters. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">That person you’ve lost touch with, call them. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The hard conversation you’ve been avoiding, have it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The change you’ve been meaning to make, start now.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There is no “big reveal” like in reality television. Mountains get climbed one baby step at a time. Accomplishment happens when you make an agreement with yourself not to stop. Not to stop when it’s inconvenient. Not to stop when it gets hard. Not to stop because you can’t see the view from the top yet. Not to stop just because you don’t know how. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s easy to give up. It’s easy to look at our world and lament, “What could poor little ol’ me do about it? I’m just one person.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But our atonement, regardless of religion, is individual, and it is as individuals that we will save the world. One good deed at a time. One meal for the hungry. One visit to the relative in a nursing home or hospital. One kindness shown to a stranger. One helping hand at a time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There was one Rosa Parks. One Abraham Lincoln. There was also one Adolph Hitler. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">To ask for forgiveness without a change in behavior is meaningless. It doesn’t serve us to beg for something when we are unwilling to change ourselves. God is not some magician, waving a magic wand just because we don’t want to clean up our own messes.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I have been told my unhappiness stems from my expectations not being met. That may be true, but I can’t help but believe we have the potential for peace and expect us to figure that out. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I can’t help but hope that humanity will wake up to the fact that what happens to one of us, happens to all of us, and expect us to behave accordingly. And I am unwilling to let go of the belief that we are our brother’s keeper. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s true, I expect a lot. And I’m heartbroken when I look at a world that doesn’t seem to grasp even the simplest idea of treating others the way we want to be treated. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But my job isn’t to tell everyone what to do, much as I'd really enjoy that. It’s not even to get it all done myself. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My job is to live my life and make my reach such that the kind of world I want to live in becomes inevitable. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s big. It’s bold. It’s doable. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It requires changing only one person – me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">What does “at-one-ment” mean to you? What could we all sacrifice to be "at-one?"<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">These are the days of reflection and hope.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">May they also be the days we reawaken to our potential and become the best versions of ourselves. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-16035718275579475032023-09-11T15:47:00.004-05:002023-09-11T18:28:23.560-05:00The Day We Were All New Yorkers<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKG8A2gcAugsiuY1aSrIOqoKK8ShCFAF401ujBB0sFb9heBDJUBB4siy3RdS1xLrEJTuKnwRspbBHa3I79s-CA2G5qXV9FTrh7H8srduS5rkFlwEOT9fhkrWgoNEc6r5VJ8UZW-QfD7osZJpOTg6O841lxNDlR1UAZlE5oIV50EIMV3fe39wpiIxb55o/s275/WTC.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="184" data-original-width="275" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdKG8A2gcAugsiuY1aSrIOqoKK8ShCFAF401ujBB0sFb9heBDJUBB4siy3RdS1xLrEJTuKnwRspbBHa3I79s-CA2G5qXV9FTrh7H8srduS5rkFlwEOT9fhkrWgoNEc6r5VJ8UZW-QfD7osZJpOTg6O841lxNDlR1UAZlE5oIV50EIMV3fe39wpiIxb55o/s1600/WTC.jpg" width="275" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p>Even if I hadn’t looked at a calendar, I would have known today was 9/11. I get a heavy, somber feeling each year, when I wake up on this day. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This year feels sadder to me than most. Not because I’ve been back in New York for thirteen years, but because 9/11 united a country that is now sorely divided.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It seems sacrilegious to say that 9/11 was a good moment for our country in any way, but in some ways, it was.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was living in Tennessee in 2001, and prior to that day, I had been referred to as a Yankee, a Northerner, and on occasion, “you people.” </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The division in attitude came as a shock to me, when I moved to Nashville, because, in all honesty, I had never grown up thinking of any part of the United States as separate or different, other than in dialect, from another.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The five years I was in Nashville prior to 9/11 taught me otherwise. The South has more than its own dialect, it has its own culture, and in consciousness at least, it was very much its own separate entity.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Then 9/11 happened, and for one brief, beautiful moment, we were all Americans. That day, everyone was a New Yorker. And the people around me cared very much if my family was okay, my friends, everyone I knew back home.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For one instant, all the things that made me different didn’t matter.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">On that day, we were united in our grief and our steadfastness. And being attacked as a democracy, we were reminded how very precious and sacred our freedom was. It was something our enemies would kill for and our citizens would die for.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I have been pondering that moment a lot lately. There is so much separation and discord now, that I don’t know if faced with the same kind of attack today, if we would come together or fall apart entirely. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would like to think that neighbor would stand shoulder to should with neighbor, sifting through rubble and donating blood.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would like to think that we might remember that the great experiment of our democracy is worth resurrecting from its current state of hanging on by a thread.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would like to think that out of the ashes, our former greatness could rise once more, that we still have it in us.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would like to think these things, but I don’t know for sure. I don’t know if we can salvage our air and water, or voting rights, or autonomy over our individual bodies, or equality, whether racial, marital, or gender.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I don’t know whether the rule of law can survive the vast disparity between how it is applied to different citizens, or the unregulated media masquerading as news, untethered to truth, and unyielding in its vitriol.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I just don’t know.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And in my darker moments, I’m not sure a society is worth saving if it is devoid of common decency and any shred of compassion.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But in my brighter moments, I still have hope. I have to, because as I listen to the annual reading of the names that perished on this day, I do not want their sacrifice to have been in vain. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So I press on, knowing that those of us who remember 9/11 vividly, have a responsibility to try and preserve democracy. We have the difficult task before us of loving one another amid the differing views and beliefs, amid the varying cultures and demographics, amid the voices screaming for our attention and our division. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I press on, knowing that our survival is dependent on me seeing you, whomever you are, as more like me than not. And at the end of the day, I press on for the sake of generations to follow, in the hopes that they will put down the guns that so many cherish more than life, and come to the table with an open heart and willing spirit. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So on this 22<sup>nd</sup> anniversary of 9/11, I want to offer up a thought AND a prayer – that we may unclench our fists and lend a hand, that we may forfeit our separation for unity, and heed the voice of our better angels when they ask us to choose love.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-66842002353025454372023-06-05T21:20:00.014-05:002023-06-06T14:07:31.310-05:00A Barry Manilow Blog...<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Cambria; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzNzARNQoQrtxQJppB7Jc0xgvtgLpGXjt5tNiFBCqep2ABHqKWiNBJH_VtAVq9DOTe3gtGhn7uhW_ReCJw1tF6o3fggpfMAeQ7YeuggbcsxJrE_OWme-NTpesVmcAphJhJjJH50drD976F7799YFF7dz78byW_DsqttlQwWaOtm1uki2sJwMXa5GB5" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="720" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjzNzARNQoQrtxQJppB7Jc0xgvtgLpGXjt5tNiFBCqep2ABHqKWiNBJH_VtAVq9DOTe3gtGhn7uhW_ReCJw1tF6o3fggpfMAeQ7YeuggbcsxJrE_OWme-NTpesVmcAphJhJjJH50drD976F7799YFF7dz78byW_DsqttlQwWaOtm1uki2sJwMXa5GB5" width="180" /></a></div></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: xx-small;">Photo by Renato Rufino</span></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I was not a cool kid. I wore glasses, had curly hair, zero athletic ability, and studied classical piano. I was a walking recipe for schoolyard ostracizing. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Music was my refuge and songs, the place where I took solace. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My brother, four years older, was listening to The Beatles and Beach Boys, Buddy Holly and a plethora of doo-wop groups. But this was the 70’s and I was listening to WABC radio and Cousin Brucie, when I wasn’t practicing Bach, Beethoven and Chopin. </p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">When I was still in single digits, the song “Mandy” came out. But it wasn’t until a year later, in 1975 that a song opening and closing with a Chopin Prelude I was learning at the time, emerged on pop radio and forever changed my life.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">First of all, I would like to repeat that a song opening and closing with a Chopin Prelude was a SINGLE ON POP RADIO. If you want to know why I am the way I am musically, there’s your first clue right there – the melding of pop and classical as marketable, commercial and even, sigh, popular.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">By the time “I Write the Songs” hit the airwaves, <b><i>I</i></b><i> </i>had started writing songs, and whether mine would make the whole world sing or not, the trajectory of my life was set. I was ten. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I spent hours at the piano learning to play and sing the songs on the albums I was listening to, the sadder the better. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The soundtrack of my New York youth was forged by Barry Manilow melodies, whether his own or the others he made famous. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Youth eventually transitions to adulthood, landscapes change, and tastes evolve. The sound of acoustic guitars and pianos gave way to synthesizers. And the sweeping melodies I had come to know and love were replaced by the much more limited ones needed for dancers who could barely sing to perform in MTV videos. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Barry’s sound changed, too in the 80’s, and it’s possible there might have even been eyeliner detected on an album cover, I can’t say for certain. What I can say is no matter what murky musical waters the 80’s saw artists wade into, when it came to Barry, I went willingly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It wasn’t until the 90’s Showstoppers album that I first got to go to a Manilow concert with my friend, Anthony. And so it would be with him, again, and his husband now, that I went last week, 30+ years later. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">When you’re young, you have no sense of how fleeting life is. It seemed I had forever before me, at that first concert of his. I was in the moment, but I hadn’t yet learned to savor it, because there would always be another concert, another tour.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">By the mid-90’s, I found my songwriting mecca in Nashville, where the country music of the day hearkened back to the pop music of the 70’s, with melodies and meaningful lyrics. I was all in and moved there.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Not long after, I went with my friend, Beth to hear Barry at Starwood Amphitheatre in Tennessee.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">In Nashville, both my writing and performing blossomed. But it wouldn’t be a country or even a straight ahead adult pop song that would be my big break. It would be a Radio Disney tween confection called <a href="https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Don%27t_Think_About_It" target="_blank">"I Don't Think About It"</a> that finally gave me a #1 song in Billboard. (My collaborator, Sue Fabisch…also a keyboard-playing Barry fan, not coincidentally.)<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Time has a funny way of slipping away when you’re not looking, and as the years passed, Barry stayed out west more and toured less. Me, I moved back to New York, where I can curse freely and maintain my bodily autonomy.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The pandemic arrived, and with each horrible loss came an awakening as to how much can be gone in an instant. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Suddenly, I became aware of what I still wanted to do and how much time had already vanished. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There is no longer forever in front of me. And there won’t always be another tour for every artist I love. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I entered what I like to call my “one last time” phase of concert going, just in case either one of us doesn’t get another shot at it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So when I saw that Barry Manilow would be at Radio City for five nights, I asked Anthony if he wanted to go with me again now.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was a Thursday, June 1<sup>st</sup>, 2023 as we neared Radio City on foot. The pedicabs were blasting Barry Manilow music in the streets. The entrepreneurial types were selling Manilow t-shirts outside for $20 going in and $10 going out.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Lest the nostalgia lull me into thinking this was any time other than present day, we had to go through metal detectors and bag searches to enter, but once we did, the excitement was palpable. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We were handed glow sticks on the way to our seats with no instructions as to how to activate them. Not rocket science, I know, but still, snapping it in half did not seem intuitive to me.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Glow sticks aside, there was something about six thousand Barry Manilow fans under one roof that enveloped me like a soothing blanket. I can only imagine what it was like from Barry’s perspective.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">A fifty-piece orchestra added to the grandeur. When Barry emerged, the crowd leapt to its feet, where we remained for the better part of the evening. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This wasn’t just a concert, it was an event. There was no hit left unsung, no ounce of love left unexpressed by the audience for Barry or by Barry for the audience. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The two and a half hour show was seamlessly woven together with gentle banter infused between songs that gave us a glimpse of the man and not just the showman.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There was the charity he started to buy instruments for school children. The teacher he honored in the audience. The story about his grandfather, who encouraged his musicality from early childhood. The show, <i>Harmony,</i> that took him decades, but is finally coming to Broadway this fall. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was more than just a guy singing a string of hit songs back to back. It was six thousand people singing every word of every song with him, and oddly in tune, I might add. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We are the amalgam of everything we experience in life, songs included. They shape us, keep us company, remind us of first love, and maybe walk us home. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Lyrics become more poignant with age. Singing, “All the time, all the wasted time…” doesn’t hit the same in your twenties as it does in your fifties. Neither does “This One’s for You” or “I Made it through the Rain.” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It felt like all of us wanted this one more time to revisit collectively the music that shaped us. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I can’t know what Barry took from the night, but I hope he got the colossal “thank you” that it felt like from the audience.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Exiting Radio City, no one seemed in a hurry. The glow sticks were petering out as the crowd dissipated. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Pedicabs were still blasting Manilow music throughout the streets of New York as we walked to the garage where my car was parked.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There, on 51<sup>st</sup> Street, between 7<sup>th</sup> Avenue and Broadway, the mass of concertgoers were either in line to pay or waiting patiently for their cars to be brought out. It started somewhere in the back, the sea of voices wafting its way toward the entrance, singing…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"> <i>“Even now, when I have come so far<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i> I wonder where you are<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i> I wonder why it’s still so hard without you…”<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">More voices joined, ours included, until everyone was singing…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"> <i>“Even now, when I come shining through<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i> I swear I think of you<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i> And how I wish you knew, even now.”<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There was something about the sound of our voices singing this song in a New York City parking garage at 11pm on a Thursday night in 2023 that brought me to tears. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It was as if everyone wanted the night to continue just a little bit longer.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="text-align: center;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The five shows at Radio City are over now. But I hope the magic of them lingers as long in Barry’s heart as it will in mine.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">…with great affection from this songwriter.</p><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWawmWsTYxW6LnrLn9VgzvED0t5SzjZXlFPR0HRqactIEZnwLvMSGlFMdHf_vll8gtnXrGjK1m21_K1uhTIqRDGCBoxQxxwurRIvQEpjl7cDjA0KT_4rnuhkZAIk9UdAgyoNuelu8nuEYgrnwLWZUS-xQTH_IwDTz31nE4--Gw71M6uilrvId1qRM6" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1752" data-original-width="1209" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgWawmWsTYxW6LnrLn9VgzvED0t5SzjZXlFPR0HRqactIEZnwLvMSGlFMdHf_vll8gtnXrGjK1m21_K1uhTIqRDGCBoxQxxwurRIvQEpjl7cDjA0KT_4rnuhkZAIk9UdAgyoNuelu8nuEYgrnwLWZUS-xQTH_IwDTz31nE4--Gw71M6uilrvId1qRM6" width="166" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-72020741831030803682023-05-22T14:43:00.000-05:002023-05-22T14:43:13.904-05:00Why wouldn't you?<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8IveVmQs5M7VuhlnnozR5aE0sU31PN_jUWY9H-zG7tvIXRl9I6IT7ENrv6AKY93QTsFA_GUJB0SFdHNmTK9iqffmFP6haw9NL8-Q2xb092B3X_SaKpa8Q8nMfr6P6KIgYy7xXwwt8KQeB6yRmsvMi1oNo2FeRhoIl7cGeZAKpNTzTKO3PE03xd8s/s2048/Why%20wouldn't%20you%3F.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="2048" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiD8IveVmQs5M7VuhlnnozR5aE0sU31PN_jUWY9H-zG7tvIXRl9I6IT7ENrv6AKY93QTsFA_GUJB0SFdHNmTK9iqffmFP6haw9NL8-Q2xb092B3X_SaKpa8Q8nMfr6P6KIgYy7xXwwt8KQeB6yRmsvMi1oNo2FeRhoIl7cGeZAKpNTzTKO3PE03xd8s/s320/Why%20wouldn't%20you%3F.JPG" width="320" /></a></div><br /><style class="WebKit-mso-list-quirks-style">
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</style><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">A memory came up on my Facebook page that was a picture of a painting by my friend, the late artist, Brian Nash. The painting wrote out the words, “Why wouldn’t you?” And I could hear Brian saying it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">It stopped me cold and forced me to consider. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">Why wouldn’t I <i>what</i>?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Learn to fold a fitted sheet? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Visit Italy?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->Run a marathon?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;"><!--[if !supportLists]-->-<span style="font-family: "Times New Roman"; font-size: 7pt; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal;"> </span><!--[endif]-->What???<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">I knew the fact that I was seeing this question now wasn’t a coincidence. It was begging me to go deeper than fitted sheets. And just to be clear, there are no marathons in my future. At the heart of “Why wouldn’t you?” is the question of what is possible.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">It’s easy for me to say, “Anything is possible.” I’ve said it for most of my life. But am I living my life as if I believe that?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">What risks am I taking? What fears am I willing to face head on? How committed am I to my biggest dreams? Would I sacrifice the known for the unknown to get there? What does happy look like at this point in my life?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">Why wouldn’t I <i>what</i>?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">I write a lot about taking a leap of faith and jumping, or flying or whatever rhymes with the particular line I need in a song. I’m very bold on paper. But where does the rubber meet the road?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">The thing I know for sure is there will never be a point when I feel certain or ready. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">It’s easy for me to say, “I’m gonna…” It’s hard to say, “Now. I will not wait a minute longer.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">But “why wouldn’t you?” conjures an “oh, what the hell” feeling in me, too. I’m tempted to follow it with “what’s the worst that could happen?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">I’ve grown weary of being apprehensive from past experiences and forgotten that those experiences were crafted by an older version of me that doesn’t exist anymore. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">It would behoove me to take the current version of me out for a spin, the one who has prevailed, the one who knows, somewhere deep within me, resides the victor, the one who defies the odds, who rises up no matter how many falls and lives to tell the tale of how daring greatly is always worth the risk, how there are unexpected thrills awaiting that depend solely on one thing – a moment’s courage.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">And why wouldn’t I? Why wouldn’t I take one moment to make the call I’ve been putting off, or to start learning the skill I’ve been procrastinating about, or to visualize a larger life than my current one?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">If we speak our lives into existence, then surely it’s time to say, “This is what I want.” Surely there’s power in someone else knowing, if for no other reason than that we hold ourselves accountable for our own dreams. And maybe we even get a little help along the way.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">I think the Universe has waited very patiently for me to get out of my own way. And I can hear Brian saying, “Why wouldn’t you?” as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;">I hope whatever your dreams, you ask the question. And I hope all of us give ourselves the gift of that one moment of courage that changes everything.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-size: medium;"><br /></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-76917061361425947092023-04-29T14:15:00.000-05:002023-04-29T14:15:57.769-05:00...Pieces of a Life<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlZI3NaAIFO4iLIF-vi-Gaj0aL7mPFGroX99wyNqKpi-Ss4gi2xG7DhrpXJBp5KSLX0zY38SIxEtb9_bLjE3bXnmAcfpzf7HnwPsaPdE7Ol8C5vYR6Kjninkwez0LqSPUkGNw52__uN8XNaFXfRf8kE5xcwHal4aGY-LenY8rYeEaggW-SI63IDb7/s1000/music%20on%20piano.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="667" data-original-width="1000" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMlZI3NaAIFO4iLIF-vi-Gaj0aL7mPFGroX99wyNqKpi-Ss4gi2xG7DhrpXJBp5KSLX0zY38SIxEtb9_bLjE3bXnmAcfpzf7HnwPsaPdE7Ol8C5vYR6Kjninkwez0LqSPUkGNw52__uN8XNaFXfRf8kE5xcwHal4aGY-LenY8rYeEaggW-SI63IDb7/s320/music%20on%20piano.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt; text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ve been on a mission lately to clean out and get rid of things, and I have availed myself of various books on tidying and decluttering to aid in my quest to overhaul and simplify my life. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For a while, I have had no issue with doing it, no stumbling blocks to tossing, no hesitative moments. But there was bound to come a point or a category where I would be stopped cold.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It’s never what you think it’s going to be. For me, the recent conundrum has been about classical music. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For the first twenty-two or twenty-three years of my life, much of what I did centered on it. But by the time I neared my mid-twenties, I made peace with leaving it behind. It was never my greatest love or my passion, though I liked it well enough. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I had gotten my bachelor’s degree in classical piano performance at Northwestern, had studied opera at Juilliard and sung on the stages of Carnegie and Alice Tully Halls. Whatever I was going to do with it, I had already done. And whatever I had done, never stopped me from writing songs and stoking the fire of that greatest of my loves.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was easy for me to tuck it away. Studying piano was the means to an end of writing and playing my own songs and it was a great way to go. But classical singing, well, that was a huge mistake in the long run, because trying to undo <i>that</i> has been the challenge of all the years since. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But back to the decluttering discussion. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I managed to tuck away all the classical music, both vocal and piano, in a lovely decorative chest underneath my piano. I went through it once, a number of years ago, and got rid of a lot of it. But here it is, years later, and it has remained unopened since, with all the classical music safely stowed inside.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Do I really need to keep this? I pondered.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I pulled out the chest with every intention of ridding myself of most of its contents. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I pulled out score after score, and book after book, holding each in my hands. I looked at the handwritten notes on them, some of them dated, some of them with piano fingerings. All of a sudden, I remembered who I was when I sang or played each piece, and though I know I’ll never be her again, I couldn’t help but wonder if getting rid of these pieces of my history, wasn’t also throwing away a piece of who I am now. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I cannot begin to guess how many years it’s been since I sang an aria or played a sonata. I’m not even sure I could do either anymore, frankly, but I do know that the person who did those things still lives inside me, and those achievements weren’t nothing. They took years of work. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So do I pass these physical remnants of my former life on to music students who could use them now, or do I hold onto them myself? And what else am I holding onto that maybe I should release? What pieces of my life are over and done with and ready to be set free? What new aspects of my life would I be making room for if I decided to part with them? Who was I? Who am I? Who will I become?<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">No matter how I envision revisiting the past, even briefly, it is over. These days, my piano is covered with the songs that I write. I’ve run out of time to do anything other than what lights me up and fulfills me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For the moment, I’ve decided to tidy and/or part with other things that are less angst-ridden. There is no shortage of them. As for Beethoven et al, I will circle back around when I’ve decided if that’s a piece of my life I will truly never revisit. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">What are you holding onto from your former self? I would love to know.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Until next time, peace and blessings…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-45515921579236662202023-04-16T17:04:00.000-05:002023-04-16T17:04:42.935-05:00The End of an Era<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDv-adAAM6dUx3OJCtL1kbTypoUPvX2hOn2nlht5AbCC-3besZVkw9prJadkWM7hRomzF5ILyzfZq5-olqoNz1LAQavkUtcKQiHEbrcpsSTrdCXmb3zh4fipjX8JebQRyQY0vf_2Wxvm8nBM9R307aTLP-g-T25EblYcZrl9fiiItmmMw2KZ5daDbb/s640/IMG_4527.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="482" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiDv-adAAM6dUx3OJCtL1kbTypoUPvX2hOn2nlht5AbCC-3besZVkw9prJadkWM7hRomzF5ILyzfZq5-olqoNz1LAQavkUtcKQiHEbrcpsSTrdCXmb3zh4fipjX8JebQRyQY0vf_2Wxvm8nBM9R307aTLP-g-T25EblYcZrl9fiiItmmMw2KZ5daDbb/s320/IMG_4527.jpg" width="241" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As I type this, the final Broadway performance of <i>Phantom of the Opera</i> is taking place. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It’s been covered by the news, but for me, I’ve been pouring through story after story on Facebook, by people I know who have been in the production, or were part of the crew, people whose lives were forever changed, who, maybe like me, could never imagine a Broadway without <i>Phantom</i>.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">My relationship to the show went beyond the musical numbers I ever sang from it. For me, <i>Phantom</i> will always and forever be about merchandise. Yes, you heard me correctly. Merchandise.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Phantom</span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> ushered in an era where Broadway merch was everything. A t-shirt or sweatshirt with that mask was cool. So were the coasters, key chains, baseball caps, matchstick boxes, coffee mugs that glowed in the dark when filled, window cards, and CD’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The lines were long, the demand was high, and the cash flowed endlessly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I used to meet my best friend, Anthony at the Majestic, where he managed the merchandise sales, and eventually, when I decided to sell Broadway merch, too, <i>Phantom</i> was where I trained. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">There was no show crazier to work, so if you could handle yourself there, you could work any show. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Eventually, I moved nearby to <i>Crazy for You</i>, and then I floated between theaters at <i>Les Miz</i>, <i>Miss Saigon</i>, and <i>Sunset Boulevard</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Merch people were theater people – actors, singers, dancers, writers, directors, producers – all biding their time, but biding it in theaters, eight shows a week. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For a short but sweet period of time, some of us would meet for a picnic dinner Friday nights during first act, on the floor of the Minskoff. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I thought those days would last forever, but as the mid-nineties approached, I moved to Nashville to pursue my songwriting career. In ’97, the touring company of <i>Phantom</i> came to town and stayed for about a month. So back to the theater I went once again and this time sold merch to people with southern accents and the kinds of questions and comments that inspired us to keep a running journal of them, because they were <i>that </i>funny. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Oh, you think I’m kidding? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Patron 1 to Patron 2: Why do you think he (the phantom) was so ugly?<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Patron 2: Because his momma didn’t like him none.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I kid you not. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">By the end of the run, I heard Bill, the bartender say, “Drop the chandelier on the bitch so we can go home already.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It was heaven, I’m telling ya. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When <i>Les Miz</i>, <i>Rent</i>, <i>Kiss Me Kate</i>, and <i>Mamma Mia</i> came to town, I sold merch for them, too. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ultimately, I liked being in the theater so much, I got a job bartending there for other non-theatrical events, which was hilarious, because there was no training involved as a prerequisite to that job, so unless the ingredients were actually <i>in</i> the name of the drink, I didn’t know how to make it. Jack and Coke, gin and tonic – I was your girl. Otherwise, I was very entertaining, but a terrible bartender. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When I returned to New York, I worked whatever shows needed a fill in person. But eventually, the merchandise heyday that Phantom ushered in, in the late 80’s, started to wane. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’ve been giving a lot of thought recently to why I feel so sad about <i>Phantom</i>’s closing after a 35 year run, and I think it’s that, as long as I could see it there, every night, continuing on, each time I passed the Majestic, that part of my past was somehow still alive, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In some alternate universe, this group of kids still exists, with our whole lives before us, a sea of endless possibilities, dressed in Broadway show shirts and baseball hats, about to work walkout, when that night’s audience raced to our booths to take home a little bit of the magic they had just experienced.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">One last time, the orchestra will soar, the final bows will be taken, the curtain will come down and the house lights will come up, and <i>Phantom</i> will be relegated to Broadway history. <o:p></o:p></span></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-36222277401595879212023-03-23T19:50:00.000-05:002023-03-23T19:50:03.148-05:00Celebrating In Color!<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiznASYvSQl75jneOjX5S6QL1godEDklEjizVYHJeF1LKjnfnVNgzfiqiaEumzJcj2wYu67NWqBIeFUFClNoDtvqwPT6JvBaOlqWmB_eqd4PWeVif4Ai5Htz6OAfEPs-3rbGF7xzjBK24xeLoC3APDJrwlmS91WH2EqU3124jQL-pbCaMrgUHTLXWF-/s640/IN-COLOR500cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="640" data-original-width="640" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiznASYvSQl75jneOjX5S6QL1godEDklEjizVYHJeF1LKjnfnVNgzfiqiaEumzJcj2wYu67NWqBIeFUFClNoDtvqwPT6JvBaOlqWmB_eqd4PWeVif4Ai5Htz6OAfEPs-3rbGF7xzjBK24xeLoC3APDJrwlmS91WH2EqU3124jQL-pbCaMrgUHTLXWF-/s320/IN-COLOR500cover.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">This past Saturday marked the 7-year anniversary of the release of my CD, <i>In Color</i>. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Normally, such occasions would be marked by a simple Facebook post with a link, sure to garner a few more sales. But this year, I’ve been thinking about the distance and perspective time has given me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In Color </span></i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">was the record I made just in case I never got the chance to make another record. You know, the in-case-I-get-hit-by-a-bus project. The one I made so I wouldn’t look back at the end of my life and say, “I should have,” or “I wish I had.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">While it would behoove all of us to make choices throughout our lives that don’t leave us with the regret of roads not traveled, I can’t say that I’ve always done that. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For the bulk of my adult life, I pitched songs to other artists and had my demos for them recorded by other singers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When I would play out and sing my own songs, I would get the best response from the meaningful stuff, but in the world of commercial songwriting, those weren’t the ones that earned money. And for years, I couldn’t reconcile my ability to write commercially with my obligation to write what I was put on earth to write.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Until I decided to make <i>In Color.</i><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">When I moved back to New York from Nashville, something changed deep within me. There was a moment of reckoning, where I could not take one more step forward, doing what I’d done, the way I’d done it, without first honoring the thing I’d always wanted to do, but hadn’t allowed myself. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Then came the torture of overthinking, because, well, this is me we’re talking about. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Was I just being self-indulgent to make a record? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Was it worth it? What would I be giving up if I <i>didn’t</i> do it? What would I be giving up if I <i>did</i>? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I could remodel my kitchen with what I’d be spending on this record. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">These are the things artists think about that other professions don’t contend with.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Once I made the decision to do it, I was committed no matter the obstacles I might face or the things, both good and bad, that I couldn’t foresee. And there were a lot of things I couldn’t foresee.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To begin with, I really only knew one thing for certain – that my friend, Tanya Leah was going to produce it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">As she was recording and producing her own <i>Roses for Panjo </i>album, I thought it was achingly beautiful, and I couldn’t think of a description I was more desirous of than “achingly beautiful.” So I asked her if she would produce my record.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">At some point, when we were sitting outside at a local New York Italian joint, I wrote out a list of intentions for my record on the back of my paper placemat.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">To be clear, at that moment, sitting there, my intentions seemed ridiculous. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Other than Tanya and me, I didn’t know who’d be playing on it. I knew my friends Lorraine and BethAnne would sing backgrounds with Tanya. I don’t think all the songs were even written at that point, including the title track. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">It would be three years before the record was done. But there are things about what’s on it that I will treasure forever.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For instance, one song has the piano that I grew up playing. Another song has a bunch of friends as well as my father singing on it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Caitlin sent in her violin parts. Everett played percussion and sang. Anthony wrote the friends song with Tanya and me. A tambourine with just the right sound for the gospel song. Yes, I wrote a gospel song. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Violas, bass and drums from Nashville. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Kenny Loggins for a duet partner.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Magic happens when you follow your heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Opportunities present themselves when you dare to take a chance on being the person you dreamed you’d be.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I never got the new kitchen, but the song, “In Color” has been sung at Lincoln Center, 54 Below, by cabaret singers, Broadway stars, and seven years worth of theater kids at Nicori Studios. It continues to be learned and sung all over the country, thanks to kindred spirits who believe the lyrics about living life in bright neon color bear repeating and sharing.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Time marches on. But I still get to sing all the songs when I do concerts. And Tanya, Lorraine and I formed the band, The Inspire Project. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I would love for you to take a listen to the album, <i>In Color,</i> if you haven’t…or even if you have. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I hope some of the songs speak to you and resonate with your own life. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I wish you roads traveled, chances taken, and dreams fulfilled.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Happy 7<sup>th</sup> Anniversary to <i>In Color. </i>And so much gratitude to those who gave of their gifts and heart on it, and for those of you listening.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">xo<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><a href="https://www.ileneangel.com/music/#incolor" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Listen to In Color</span></a><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><a href="https://www.ileneangel.com/shop/" target="_blank"><span style="font-size: x-large;">Purchase In Color</span></a><br /></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-29621083242192059712023-02-12T13:46:00.004-06:002023-02-12T13:48:38.101-06:00My Annual Super Bowl Blog - 2023<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0g7VeLb-9xSwjhpxLhseY3emIedkhsel4pUhZX1-rJW3nHVDJkizWLjss6GMZtNEXL9B5TpRpN8IUaI1mkZErmeRzireYu1X7fvBnNo9AFu2qNbZySNvm4eKKyw77ju_Ifq9Cpwl9iTA44N6oGjt3HHrJ4rmopZNpwHlFoPUYiHZwqlYZQy0MlBjm/s192/football.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="128" data-original-width="192" height="128" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj0g7VeLb-9xSwjhpxLhseY3emIedkhsel4pUhZX1-rJW3nHVDJkizWLjss6GMZtNEXL9B5TpRpN8IUaI1mkZErmeRzireYu1X7fvBnNo9AFu2qNbZySNvm4eKKyw77ju_Ifq9Cpwl9iTA44N6oGjt3HHrJ4rmopZNpwHlFoPUYiHZwqlYZQy0MlBjm/s1600/football.jpg" width="192" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Well, boys and girls, another year has passed, and so today we find ourselves readying for Super Bowl LVII between the Kansas City Chiefs and the Philadelphia Eagles. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It is starting at 6:30p.m. Eastern, so make sure to heat your hot wings accordingly.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As has become tradition, I like to take this opportunity to impress you, my readers, with my vast knowledge of players of the sport.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This year, I learned one name and one name only – Damar Hamlin of the Buffalo Bills. And I would like to point out that the only reason I know his name is that, while playing a sport big on violence and short on smarts, he nearly died.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For one brief shining moment, I held out hope that the U.S. might come to its senses about this sport. For an instant, I dared dream that life and death might carry the full weight they deserve. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But alas, that moment was short lived, and here we are again today, a nation poised to celebrate that which has turned out to be truly American – overconsumption of junk food and unnecessary barbarism. Add a semiautomatic and Marjorie Taylor Greene to the picture and I think we can all say, “God bless America.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Enough negativity, Ilene, you might be thinking. Can’t we harken back to a simpler time, when I knew the names of players because they were on <i>Dancing with the Stars</i>? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Sure, I can harken with the best of them. The truth is, the one player who was part of all of pop culture when I was growing up is now doing Medicare commercials. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Broadway Joe was Sexiest Man Alive before there was a People Magazine to determine such important things. Now I’m worried that he’ll break a hip.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But back to the matter at hand – today’s Super Bowl.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ll be cheering for the real winners – anyone who wrote music used in the commercials and half-time show. I applaud and cheer any musician’s rare payday. Even Rihanna, who lost me as far back as the genius lyric “umbrella – ella – ella – eh – eh - eh.” Good for her, too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I suppose my toughest decision will be what to watch while the rest of the country is on that testosterone high. My top contenders are <i>Friends</i>, which I started streaming on HBO Max because I’d never seen them all when they originally ran. Or maybe <i>Hacks, </i>which I also haven’t seen yet, but heard was great. Whatever it is, it will probably be a comedy, because I could use a laugh.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Whatever I choose, I will make sure to say a prayer for the players before the start of the game. I can’t say for certain, but it’ll probably be something along the lines of,…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-indent: 0.5in;"><i>“Dear Lord, they know not what they do, so please go easy on the traumatic brain injury. Amen.”<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Wherever your Super Bowl plans may take you, I hope you have a great day.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">xo<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-85155466044829557082023-01-09T14:59:00.002-06:002023-01-09T15:13:54.192-06:00Welcome to My Blook?<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">It’s 2023 and I decided that I wanted to blog more. The only trouble is, the word “blog” has become passé. Maybe the whole writing of them has, too. I don’t know. But I figured if I wanted to continue doing it, I should call it something else.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I consulted the thesaurus in my iphone to find possible alternatives. That’s when the word “blook” caught my attention. Blook? Really? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Just to be sure that was an actual word, I googled the definition of “blook.” The dictionary said it is “a book published in instalments on a weblog.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Three problems with that – 1) the dictionary misspelled the word “installments” so my faith in its accuracy is now waning. 2) This isn’t a book in installments, although now they’ve got me thinking about that. And 3) The word “weblog” includes the word “blog,” which begs the question why change the name.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So while I ponder what to call this – welcome. Thanks for dropping in.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If you’re new here, I started this whatchamacallit back in March of 2009, before my first book, <i>In Search of George Stephanopoulos, </i>came out. Back then, I wrote a new thingamajig every day. Every single day. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Obama was president, so I still had hope…and a blissfully naïve belief that the dark days of George W. Bush’s presidency were behind us and so, surely, were the worst days we would ever see as a nation.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I know - hilarious.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Be that as it may, I am kind of excited to exercise what’s left of free speech to blather on about what crosses my mind these days, whether it’s the meaning of life, the freak show known as the United States House of Representatives, or Prince Harry’s <i>60 Minutes </i>interview with Anderson Cooper last night. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I need to start with that last one first, because everyone has got an opinion about this and I’m no different. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The majority of people I know say that Harry should have kept his mouth shut. I disagree. I think speaking his truth is not only his right, but is incumbent upon him. I think it is unfair to let the press have their unfettered say, but not the people they are writing about. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I found his admissions heartbreaking, and his desire to heal, an act of bravery. And seeing to it that his wife didn’t suffer the same fate as his mother might be the single greatest legacy Diana left of all. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Will I buy his new book? Probably not. But I say, “Good for him and whoever ghost wrote it.” I’m all for employing writers.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Switching topics with zero finesse, as I type this, the House of Representatives has not yet voted on the Rules Package so congress can, you know, run. That’s supposed to happen later today, but I don’t count on it being smooth sailing after last week’s circus. If they should happen to pass it without fistfights in the chamber, then I think Vegas should start taking odds on how long before someone calls to vacate McCarthy from the speakership. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">In preparation, I’ve got popcorn being delivered today between the hours of four and six.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m also in a bit of a reading frenzy right now. I’m almost done with a book on decluttering, and you’ll be happy to know that it’s an eBook I borrowed from the library, so I’m not actually adding to my “stuff” like I did with Marie Kondo’s book.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This book does not require me to pull out everything I own or to fold anything precisely, which is a good thing, because I have surrendered to the inevitable – I will never fold a fitted sheet correctly and my clothes have to fit my post-pandemic body, which let’s face it, is not sparking any kind of joy right now.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hope that whatever the rest of your day brings, includes a little laughter and a new way of looking at something. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Until next time…thanks for stopping by.<o:p></o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-58419813136736096102022-12-31T13:35:00.000-06:002022-12-31T13:35:08.225-06:00What Kind of Year Has It Been?<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvX9S7bopQZFxz2YuSWDRWsWEVDDAlmCDDTAHJ58yjtpNwQZerlpL8VVocvfjOrRkXzyMgRLjlISlPRyy_5-2Arv56eeC2qPJYnOMHzpaUoLreIjsnP3dmwm3X1hGvh0qUkcSFmwkfbNwMKiKSfOfAJ6CuGu6mPOQbNl7febL5AnfZ3bgSkGOrNH8/s450/New%20Year.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="450" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjrvX9S7bopQZFxz2YuSWDRWsWEVDDAlmCDDTAHJ58yjtpNwQZerlpL8VVocvfjOrRkXzyMgRLjlISlPRyy_5-2Arv56eeC2qPJYnOMHzpaUoLreIjsnP3dmwm3X1hGvh0qUkcSFmwkfbNwMKiKSfOfAJ6CuGu6mPOQbNl7febL5AnfZ3bgSkGOrNH8/s320/New%20Year.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This New Year’s Eve, it seems like people are either home sick or out frolicking like they haven’t been since 2019. Me, I’m neither. But I <i>am</i> reflective and a tad melancholy, so I thought, why not bring all of you down with me?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I jest. Sort of. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I am not someone who particularly enjoys staring in the rearview mirror. I tend to be driven to accomplish large goals, whatever they may be. But every once in a while, it’s important to stop all the moving, to stand still and reflect, and to just <i>be</i>.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">New Year’s Eve seems the logical time for that. So instead of rushing toward resolutions, fad diets, and endless to-do lists, I’m taking a moment to ask myself, “What kind of year has 2022 been?”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">What have I learned? What have I accomplished? What am I proud of? What dreams have come true? What unexpected gifts were there? How have I changed and grown? What broke my heart? What made me stronger? What truths have I surrendered to? In what ways have I made this world kinder? Have I loved well?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hate the superficial. Sure, I can talk about the weather…as a gateway to how humanity is going to perish, but not really as a pleasant cocktail conversation. I digress, though.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">2022 has been a tough year, and not just because it feels like the 27<sup>th</sup> year of this freakin’ pandemic, but because I am a full-time caregiver and this year has seen the transition into in-home hospice for my 94 year old father. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Caregiving gives one the unique experience of having time pass in excruciatingly slow motion and simultaneous warp speed. It has given me an opportunity to be present and savor moments, hugs, and stories in a way most people never can, but it also carries with it the weight of pending grief and loss. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As I look back, I have to acknowledge the fortitude it took to keep dreams alive and to move them forward any which way I could in 2022. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Doing online concerts every month from March 2020 until August 2022 afforded me the chance to perform for people worldwide. It kept me writing songs and growing, and because the pandemic leveled the playing field by forcing all of us to make it work from home, with no fanfare, it gave me the opportunity to have my favorite writers hear <i>me</i>. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If you had told me any time prior to this past year that people whose work inspired me would become fans of <i>my </i>work, I would not have believed it. But life has a funny way of gifting us unlikely opportunities if we put ourselves out there. For whatever my songwriting career didn’t live up to previously, 2022 left me with a kind of satisfaction that I never knew I’d have.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Are there dreams you haven’t yet dared allowed yourself to dream?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Early in the pandemic, I began writing a musical. What more logical thing could one do when Broadway was shut down? No pressure, the theaters were dark and no one knew if they’d come back. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">At first, I wouldn’t even acknowledge that a show was what I was writing. It started with one song. Then another. And another. And before I could deny or resist any longer, I had to admit this was what I was doing – writing a show.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And God, joker that He/She is, wasted no time in revealing that this was the thing all previous endeavors were but mere preparation for. Writing a musical, like writing books, is an enormous undertaking. There is something slightly insane about those of us who do it. It’s a nifty combination of “wouldn’t it be fun if…” and “what the hell was I thinking?!” <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Be that as it may, as this year draws to a close, I can say I’ve done table readings, and I know no matter how far I still have to go, I’ve taken a major step. So I will forge ahead, however long it takes me to see this sucker to fruition. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For all the things I am grateful to have done this past year, there is also a gnawing at what has passed me by. Invitations I had to decline, friends I couldn’t see in person, trips I could not make because for everything we say “yes” to, we must say “no” to something else. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I wonder how I will emerge from this time spent at home, when the situation changes. Even now, I cherish moments of connection more than most will ever fathom. I don’t have the energy for facades or the desire to dwell on minutia. And I appreciate laughter for the sweet relief it brings during the darkest moments. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would like to tell you that I have all my ducks in a row as 2023 begins, that I’ve got a personal trainer and a list of goals I’m going to “crush,” as the kids like to say. Note to kids: don’t “crush” – manifest, create, embody. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hope 2023 finds us all less hateful and more loving, less greedy and more giving, less fearful and more trusting. I hope 2023 finds us bolder in our heart’s desires, stronger in our resolve to venture outside of our comfort zones, and intentional in building the kind of world we want to live in.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hope 2023 finds us being honest with ourselves.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hope we stay awake to our fragility and have compassion for one another, knowing how brief our time here. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I hope we maintain a sense of humor, because just about everything is funny if you know how to look at it right.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And finally, I hope we find our way back to love, to who we were before life had its way with us. I hope we resurrect the part of ourselves that believes anything is possible. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>In 2023…<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>May you be healthy<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>May you be peace-filled<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>May you be prosperous<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>May you be generous<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>May you be kind<o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i>May you be fulfilled <o:p></o:p></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Happy New Year!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">xo<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-75840762495479093802022-05-01T15:51:00.001-05:002022-05-01T15:55:25.627-05:00...The Person in the Old Headshot<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbIJAkpVX0nuqb85_SMn5Lg9OLIsBPgFPSYSY6VibYUg8Irg7TLHBNS1hi5b3oXqwir36SmIQbwIUaXjBBbu_sHSRezMgkDx0XbsLGSVcP8HY3PMd8pjnuayYaCOp6wx1oblFKY8VTV95FzKlL3I0k7-llYu7ZmH9oul5P_MMgrPVGpbIO388TWbB/s1965/Old%20headshot.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1965" data-original-width="1584" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEbIJAkpVX0nuqb85_SMn5Lg9OLIsBPgFPSYSY6VibYUg8Irg7TLHBNS1hi5b3oXqwir36SmIQbwIUaXjBBbu_sHSRezMgkDx0XbsLGSVcP8HY3PMd8pjnuayYaCOp6wx1oblFKY8VTV95FzKlL3I0k7-llYu7ZmH9oul5P_MMgrPVGpbIO388TWbB/s320/Old%20headshot.jpg" width="258" /></a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p>There’s this thing going on in social media where people are posting their old headshots. <o:p></o:p><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Me, I jumped right on that bandwagon, posting one of mine from the 90’s. It’s a younger, skinnier, flawless-skinned version of me. And it has probably received the most “likes” of anything I’ve ever posted.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I could have left it at that and walked away with a win. But nooo. I had to comment on someone else’s headshot, someone I didn’t know when his photos were taken, someone whom I would not have recognized if I saw him walk right in front of me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I said, “Who <i>is </i>that person?” about his headshot.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">That, of course, got me thinking – who was the person in <i>my </i>photo?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Who <i>was </i>she, and what would I want to tell her? What do I wish she had known? <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">There’s the obvious - “buy stock in Apple,” but I’m not really talking about that kind of thing here. I’m talking about what would have made a difference in my trajectory, in the joy I experienced along the way, in my quality of life. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For starters, I would tell that Ilene that she was a stone cold fox and to take that out for a spin and have a little fun with it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I wish that Ilene had an ounce of the self-approval that today’s version has. She might’ve sauntered.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would tell that younger version of me that she was of equal value to any person she admired for any reason and there was nothing she could do to lessen that.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I wish the woman in that old headshot knew that speaking up wasn’t optional and that she was a leader, reluctant or otherwise.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I wish old headshot Ilene wasn’t so afraid to be seen.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would tell her to laugh more. It’s good for your health.</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would let her know that time goes by exponentially faster with every passing year, and that most of what we fret about is of little consequence. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would tell old headshot version of Ilene to have the difficult, pointed conversations, no matter how uncomfortable, because they grow relationships. I would tell her that vulnerability is a strength and a gift to those who receive it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would thank old headshot Ilene for surviving life with optimism and hope and a tireless belief in possibilities she could see no evidence of manifesting most of the time. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would love to tell the old version of me some of the outrageous and amazing things we were gonna do together. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The Ilene in that picture dared to dream and dip a toe in the raging waters of a universe she feared more than trusted, but still, she did it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I would tell old headshot version of Ilene that she’d look at that photo one day and smile, with a heart full of gratitude for miles traveled and lessons learned.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Still, the Apple thing is kind of a bummer…<o:p></o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-67537841084821392112022-04-24T14:33:00.001-05:002022-04-24T14:33:55.467-05:00A Barbra Streisand Birthday Blog!<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Today, I’ve been pondering why I’m grateful to Barbra Streisand.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Historically, when I’ve written about anyone for his or her birthday, it’s been someone I’ve known personally. Not this time.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I don’t know Barbra Streisand personally. I’ve never met her. In fact, to my knowledge, I have only been in the same place at the same time with her once, in 1994, at Madison Square Garden, when I sat in the highest balcony to hear her. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">She isn’t someone whose picture hung on my wall in a passing adolescent phase. But she <i>is</i> someone whose voice and choices shaped the trajectory of my life, and whose example as a woman in the music and movie business, as well as an activist and philanthropist have paved the way for me and, frankly, for every other woman since. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So today, on her 80<sup>th</sup> birthday, I want to say “thank you” from this particular songwriter and activist.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Hers was the voice that inspired me to write, to become a professional songwriter. Hers is the voice indelibly etched in my mind, the one song cut I still yearn for, and the yardstick by which I have measured both singers and songs.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I don’t recall a time before her voice reverberated through my home. My mother was a fan, and I am a year older than her son, Jason. So I was learning from infancy both what great singing was, yes, but also what great songwriting was. I don’t know of any other kid in single digits who read liner notes or aspired to be a member of ASCAP. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My tastes and influences were formed before the era where genres of music were stringently separated. Musical theater and pop songs coexisted on the same album and charts, so in my mind, it was all one big, glorious thing – music. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I can’t say that I have always had an easy go of the music business, but I distinctly remember thinking of Ms. Streisand when I was running a recording session in Nashville with a bunch of guys who were rolling their eyes and pushing back. I remembered a speech she gave to Women in Film, where she said:<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">“A man is commanding, a woman is demanding.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">A man is forceful, a woman is pushy. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">He’s assertive, she’s aggressive. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">He strategizes, she manipulates.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">He shows leadership, she’s controlling.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">He’s committed, she’s obsessed.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">He’s persevering, she’s relentless.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">He sticks to his guns, she’s stubborn.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If a man wants to get it right, he’s looked up to and respected.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If a woman wants to get it right, she’s difficult and impossible.”<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Until you’re the person experiencing that firsthand, you cannot appreciate the veracity of it. I can’t say that my job was made easier, but there was something inspiring about knowing that someone else had called it out, named it, and moved forward in spite of it, that made me able to move forward, too.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">And that brings me to what we use our voice and platform for. Artists are criticized for using their celebrity for things outside the arts. And I’d like to thank every damn one of them who does it, especially Barbra.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Our time on this earth is brief, and if you are one of the fortunate few, who have an opportunity to reach and influence people or raise money to save this planet and the people on it, then I say have at it, it is incumbent upon you, make a difference, be the change.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Whether it’s been standing outside a congressman’s office with a bullhorn and a news crew to get universal healthcare passed, or live streaming concerts to raise money for humanitarian aid in the Ukraine, I stand on the shoulders of people like Barbra, who aren’t afraid to take a stand and do what they can with what they have from where they are. For that, I will be forever grateful.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As for the elusive song cut, I still hold out hope. Not because I’m delusional about statistical likelihoods, but because I believe there is still something of value that needs to be said, that can best be said by the sum of the parts.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So Barbra, if you’re reading this – I wish you many more happy, healthy, joy-filled years…and thank you.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Love,</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Ilene</p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgG9PGbklf1PDykGEpRfw4hf-Ht_PSAZIq4WXSz7OLyU1Il578joh0iIKikBexHbT9JNWwZPMJJyakEasiGyY-e5421PCL52eeesM3fxymL9CLYVGA6-bcUdB4hrHkfDYxM7ukkjJuzdyvrgQq1OO3RVUXPfdO1xjlAGKnkZGHtWKtaud9Z8LT5grU/s640/Barbra%20pic.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="638" data-original-width="640" height="319" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgG9PGbklf1PDykGEpRfw4hf-Ht_PSAZIq4WXSz7OLyU1Il578joh0iIKikBexHbT9JNWwZPMJJyakEasiGyY-e5421PCL52eeesM3fxymL9CLYVGA6-bcUdB4hrHkfDYxM7ukkjJuzdyvrgQq1OO3RVUXPfdO1xjlAGKnkZGHtWKtaud9Z8LT5grU/s320/Barbra%20pic.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p></o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-904893887472149112022-02-13T14:55:00.000-06:002022-02-13T14:55:08.489-06:00My Annual Super Bowl Blog!<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">If you’ve been following this blog for any amount of time, you know that I do an annual Super Bowl blog, dedicated to this one day a year when America, at its finest, exhibits socially acceptable tribalism while gorging itself on obscene amounts of salty, processed, and frequently deep-fried foods. God bless America.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’m not one to pooh-pooh how anyone makes an honest living, but I really think there has got to be a better way than jumping on each other until you’ve got traumatic brain injury. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I’ve been schooled by fans of the sport that there is, in fact, strategy involved. Teamwork. Camaraderie. Some form of ingenuity. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">My question is, with all that strategy and ingenuity, is there any play that doesn’t end up with men piled on top of each other? No? I rest my case.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This year, I’m a little sentimental about the event, largely because Joe Namath, the one name in football that I unequivocally know, has been doing commercials for Medicare. Medicare. Is that what it’s come to?<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I saw the Manning brothers on TV recently. I’m not really sure if my knowledge of them is because of their past football prowess or because they have a good agent.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">You’ll be pleased to know that I actually googled who is playing in the Super Bowl today. Yes, I’ve managed to circumvent that information for an entire football season, but now I know - Rams and Bengals. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">More important than the teams and who is playing in the halftime show, I would like to talk about the one lasting, greatest legacy that the Super Bowl has ever given us, and that is Whitney Houston’s version of the The Star Spangled Banner. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For those of you old enough to remember it, you know that her rendition has outlasted our memory of who actually played that year. And for those of you whippersnappers who are not old enough to know, Whitney is the only artist in history to make The Star Spangled Banner a top ten single in Billboard’s Hot 100. Yes, people, myself included, bought a cassette tape single of our national anthem and actually rode around listening to it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I mention this trivia, because two days ago marked the 10-year anniversary of Whitney’s death, and I thought it only appropriate. Also, I hate football.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So what will I be doing while most of America is watching the game tonight? I plan on trying to catch up on a few of the Winter Olympic events I’ve missed. I love all the winter sports, but figure skating has been my favorite thing to watch since early childhood.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Oooh, speaking of which, there’s a great documentary out on Public Television about Randy Gardner. It’s called <i>Go Figure</i> and it is chock full of stunning skating. If you are a fan of the sport at all, you <i>must</i> see it.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">See that - I can talk about sports…or at least figure skating.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Meanwhile, I’ll be listening to Whitney today, hoping she found the peace she never knew while she was here.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Whatever your Super Bowl Sunday activities might be, I hope you stay safe, healthy, and enjoy them.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Until next year…Happy Super Bowl!<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uAYKTMQl7MQ" target="_blank">Whitney Houston Star Spangled Banner</a><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5kDfZscsCiwzT3qxSRI-7u-h08BSiQwSt2DAdTF8TfRC3pXrPIDDskNmwPEmxz6-bLEcvWpglCrQtE3td3w8Ip3H_LWgkpNyJONjwUGdnzHdletch_1vz5GdMxFfEavcpg0n05tfDZQmJvGIIUG4pCXKtXh_E8kmbwMKiApzl5IeSEUoRL-XsDDUt=s316" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="316" data-original-width="316" height="316" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEj5kDfZscsCiwzT3qxSRI-7u-h08BSiQwSt2DAdTF8TfRC3pXrPIDDskNmwPEmxz6-bLEcvWpglCrQtE3td3w8Ip3H_LWgkpNyJONjwUGdnzHdletch_1vz5GdMxFfEavcpg0n05tfDZQmJvGIIUG4pCXKtXh_E8kmbwMKiApzl5IeSEUoRL-XsDDUt" width="316" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"><br /></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-14306516804956554902021-11-25T17:09:00.001-06:002021-11-25T17:09:48.222-06:00Good Stewards, a Thanksgiving Blog for 2021<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i></i></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><i><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbr8QrIQ3w8xi90Kxy5JG3a71IwsAgXW9Z1c_VgNdVcMCsfbLoyUmuJpdQZbtlJsWEZBy2bX22apV1yDF5S0h5g5v5to70UHiVirMmKL8yRNJbx1iNwLcQNchnKwNKrJOUqkzCEWoIR0/s640/44DCD86D-4F34-424C-9B20-F309496AC5D3.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="640" height="250" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFbr8QrIQ3w8xi90Kxy5JG3a71IwsAgXW9Z1c_VgNdVcMCsfbLoyUmuJpdQZbtlJsWEZBy2bX22apV1yDF5S0h5g5v5to70UHiVirMmKL8yRNJbx1iNwLcQNchnKwNKrJOUqkzCEWoIR0/s320/44DCD86D-4F34-424C-9B20-F309496AC5D3.JPG" width="320" /></a></i></div><i><br /><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></i><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">May we be good stewards of the gifts we’ve been given.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">That’s the sentence that popped into my head just now. It stopped me in my tracks and grabbed my attention, like someone tapping me on the shoulder; only in this case, I think it was the Great Someone tapping me on the shoulder.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m mulling over what it means to be a good steward, and what constitutes a gift, and why that specific verbiage. So this blog is being written in real time, after a long absence and frankly, more than a modicum of avoidance. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The truth is I have two responses to the question, “How are you?” <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">One is a slight hesitation while I imperceptibly contemplate a) if you are just being polite in asking, b) if you warrant the length of the real answer to that question, and c) what I want to speak into the Universe, because words have the power to create and recreate what we say.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">The other response is to burst into tears. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">In a world that frequents the expressions “man up,” “put on your big girl pants,” and “get over it,” my admission might be frowned upon. And when I consider all that I have and am grateful for, and how good I have it compared to most in the world, my troubles are few, indeed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">But few isn’t none. And pain is pain, no matter the person or their station in life or how they look to the world on the outside. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So I want to talk about what I’m thankful for differently this year, with greater depth, and maybe some of it will resonate with you, too…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful to be alive. I am aware that it is a gift to open my eyes each morning, and every moment is a choice point of what I am going to create with the day I’ve been granted.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for my father still being here. It is an excruciating honor to be with someone I love at the end of his time here, but oh, what a gift it is, too. I never forget to revel in the joy of our lighter moments, and try to breathe through the harder ones that remind me that the clock is ticking.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for my family, near, far, here, and gone. Since last November, I have lost an aunt, uncle, and four cousins. That’s a lot to take in. And Covid made funeral attendance and the proper grieving process impossible. I know I speak for an entire world that suffered unfathomable loss in isolation when I say that it prolongs the loss in ways we cannot measure. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for community and relationships that were forged in the unlikeliest of ways – virtually. I have made new friends, deepened relationships with old ones, and stayed connected during this period of disconnection. So huge kudos to the book of faces, the zoom, and the StageIt, my concert platform of choice.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Speaking of StageIt, I am thankful for the gift of music – both the music I get to make for and with others, as well as the music I get to be the benefactor of. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Nothing has made me a bigger fan than people whose work has given me solace and whose energy, even virtually, was that of kindness. I’m talking about you, Gary, Georgia, and MBNation.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Being a caregiver to someone you love isn’t easy. It takes effort to carve out time that’s your own and ways to nourish your soul and rest your body. Though it might not have started out that way initially, the Wednesday night Pajama Party with Georgia Middleman and Gary Burr fast became the “me time” I cherished and looked forward to all week.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">For 50 blissful minutes, there was beautiful music, laughter, and a community that began to build. Birthdays, weddings, anniversaries, and yes, losses were shared. Stranger cared about stranger, and little by little, we weren’t strangers, we were just friends who had never met. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">These concerts paralleled my own monthly ones. And soon, there was overlap in audience. I can only hope that people who need it get the same support from my shows as I get from Gary and Georgia’s.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for my niece, Samantha, who grows into a more amazing person with every passing day. This kid makes me have hope for the future of the world, that it will be a more loving and inclusive place for everyone. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am grateful for LA traffic. That's right, you heard me. My brother always calls on his way to work, and thanks to LA traffic, we have had some wonderful and lengthy conversation about all the taboo subjects, mainly politics, religion and where the best deli sandwich can be found. It's been a gift, truly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria; font-size: 14pt;">I am grateful for my Inspire Project bandmates, Tanya and Lorraine. One of the happier highlights this past year was our unexpected sleepover because tornados descended upon our area after practice ended. For all our rehearsals that became lengthy discussions about life and art and what we want to do with ours, I am profoundly grateful.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am grateful that I look for and find the gift in every situation and relationship. It’s easy to see the gift in someone’s presence, but not always so easy to find it in their absence. Lately, I’ve been realizing that there is a gift in both. Not everyone is meant to stay.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am grateful for inspiration. I can turn just about anything into a song – maybe not a great song, but a catchy confection nonetheless. I have started having fun with that. I know, took me a minute, but I’m onboard now.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am grateful for friends who walk this life with me, who keep me sane, grounded, and laughing most of the time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Lastly, for this Thanksgiving blog, I am thankful for the courage to be vulnerable. I believe it is a gift that grants the recipient of our vulnerability permission to be the same.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Thank you for stopping by and spending some time with me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">May we all be good stewards of the gifts we’ve been given.<o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Happy Thanksgiving</span></i></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-23695638774864500972021-08-16T13:10:00.000-05:002021-08-16T13:10:23.988-05:00A Birthday Blog for 2021!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUDygC4d1mZLQN3EScpb12is9dPv7sIsLmDVoIuQ7S8P6JlgviRBh1sp4YFMsqPCAGoVjW0qLUIgh-JW1yTfA4hc94H-w61ZotWA2gMyC12fbvPPo0NGZsjGEkEgdne81Z8QcYKQh-WQ/s640/birthday+banner+turquoise.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="440" data-original-width="640" height="220" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgIUDygC4d1mZLQN3EScpb12is9dPv7sIsLmDVoIuQ7S8P6JlgviRBh1sp4YFMsqPCAGoVjW0qLUIgh-JW1yTfA4hc94H-w61ZotWA2gMyC12fbvPPo0NGZsjGEkEgdne81Z8QcYKQh-WQ/s320/birthday+banner+turquoise.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Every year, for the past decade or so, I have written a blog on my birthday, pausing to reflect on the past year of my life and contemplating the year ahead and what I intend for it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This year, I feel like I’m in limbo, not because I don’t have that on which to reflect, but because I feel incapable of planning a future in a world that is so uncertain and unfamiliar. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So I’m doing the most logical thing one can do in such a situation – I’m writing a musical. Nothing says irreversible demise of the planet like bursting into song and dance…or flames, as the case may be. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Climate Change – The Musical.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I jest. My show has nothing to do with climate change, although, now that I think about it, it could totally work.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I did not start lockdown thinking I would be writing a show. I think, like most of us, I began lockdown merely hoping not to die from Covid. So far, so good on that front.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So here I am, one year older, and closer to the end of my first draft than the beginning, fully embracing the fact that nothing has come as naturally or as easily to me as writing show tunes. And for that, I have my parents to thank. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I think my mother was playing the cast recording of Funny Girl while I was in utero and for sure, my father’s love of Man of La Mancha set me on a life path of tilting at windmills long before I even knew what that meant. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">This past year has been one of redefining myself, of exploring and learning new things and being willing to let go of previously held images and versions of myself.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">While hibernating, I’ve remained woefully ignorant about shows to binge-watch, but I <i>have</i> finished crafting a course on self-publishing, started writing my next book, done monthly concerts on StageIt, begun to learn guitar, and immersed myself in a new software to sell all manner of my work online. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">For those of you who don’t know me well, I am also the 24/7 caregiver for my 92 year old father. That is my primary job and focus now. Up until a little over a year ago, he was doing incredibly well, but then things took a turn for the worse, from which they have not and will not likely fully recover. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">While it is an immense privilege to be with my father during this time in his life, it is also an excruciating journey, rich in moments of beauty and gratitude and heartbreaking in the certainty of future solitude. One day, I will have all the time in the world and that freedom will be agonizing. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So in an effort to find balance, those other projects keep me sane, productive and moving forward, while still in my house. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The year ahead is uncertain for all of us. No one knows the path this virus will take and how it will impact us. So I revel in what beauty there is in any given moment, on any give day. I savor the time spent with my father and with close friends.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Our time here is valuable, priceless, and brief. And I am so grateful that you chose to spend some of yours with me. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">In the spirit of a true birthday celebration, please feel free to eat some cake, celebrate the moment, and occasionally burst into song and dance.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Peace and blessings to you always,<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Ilene</p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-18440349508386634082021-03-28T16:03:00.002-05:002021-03-28T16:03:48.390-05:00Redemption and Resurrection in 2021<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Every year, I write a blog during the Passover/Easter week about redemption and resurrection. This year, in particular, I feel like I myself need to reflect on it more than ever. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">On Passover, we celebrate going from slavery to redemption as a people, but in order to do that, at least biblically speaking, we had to accept God in such a way that we would agree to be obedient to His set of rules.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Frankly, if the Ten Commandments were all there was, I’d be fine with it. I think the world would be pretty good if people just adhered to even two of the ten – don’t kill anyone and quit taking what isn’t yours. (I’m paraphrasing a little.) <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">But the world doesn’t really adhere to any of the commandments, as I see it, and so we seem to be in a bit of a pickle, and I haven’t even gotten to Christianity yet. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We’ve become enslaved to so many things – to our fear, to our needs, to our politics, to money, to the idea of what we consider the true God or religion to be, to seeking vengeance and retribution, to wanting more, to settling for less. We are slaves to the constant barrage of headlines and sound bites, to MSNBC and Fox. We are slaves to our negative thoughts and stunning lack of faith in the one thing, the embodiment of which would solve all our troubles – love. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">We have put ourselves in shackles and said, “That’s just the way the world is.” We are holding ourselves captive, and I don’t mean by quarantining during the pandemic. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Speaking of which, I don’t want to burst your bubble, but it’s not over. And for those of you who want it to go back to the way things were before the pandemic, I’m sorry to break it to you, but it can’t and we won’t.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Loss changes us. I will never be who I was a year ago, nor would I want to be. Stunning and staggering pain doesn’t just impact us negatively. If we let it, it can be the bridge to our transformation into something better. It can be the road to our redemption. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I know so many people who have felt like caged animals for a year, pacing, gnawing, seething, trying to break free. But freedom, much like happiness, is an inside job. We will never be freer than we are in our minds, souls, and hearts. Until we master the thoughts we are slaves to, no amount of running around will suffice to satisfy that longing deep within. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">What we’re longing for is resurrection, which is the perfect segue to talking about Jesus. I know, my family gets a little nervous when I start talking about Jesus and resurrection, but I have known since early childhood that He was sent to be the human embodiment of what love is supposed to look like. Shocking that we couldn’t figure it out for ourselves, but no, evidently we couldn’t. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I remember asking an orthodox rabbi in Hebrew school when I was young, if Jews believed in resurrection. For those keeping score, we do. We just can’t seem to agree on who the Messiah is and when we’ll all be resurrected. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Anyway, my point is that it is time to resurrect our lives and this world, in such a way that there is no doubt what love looks like and in whose hands the responsibility for it lies. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">As I envision a post-pandemic life, I try to see my future self simply as happy. Ecstatic, in fact. It occurred to this goal-driven writer, that historically speaking, I have always thought my happiness would be found in achieving certain goals. And if there is one enslaved way of thinking I choose to release right now, it’s that. And if there’s one thing I’d like to resurrect, it’s the idea that happiness is, in and of itself, the goal, the journey, and the place I choose to reside. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Are there things I want to do? Yes. But if I can’t find happiness every step along the way, then I won’t find it when I get there, either. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I want to release my enslavement to things having to look a certain way, and resurrect the idea of flow and ease. Wow, that seems foreign to me, even as I say it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I think we have lost our way. I think we have forgotten our own divinity, not to mention God’s. I think we need to think bigger, be bolder in our declaration of what we want, and take a leap of faith in the direction of a world that works for everyone, where nothing happens <i>to</i> us, but it all happens <i>for </i>us. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">I think we need to resurrect the vision of peace, of people loving one another, of no one life being worth more than another. I think we need to revisit and embrace forgiveness. I think we need to resurrect seeing the God in everyone. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">The stories of Easter and Passover are not about slavery and crucifixion. They are about redemption and resurrection. In the worst moments are found the greatest potential for miracles. I think <i>that</i> is the takeaway. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">So wherever you find yourself this moment, I hope you can pause long enough to see God in yourself, to practice being love, and to know that at any given moment, we are poised for the miraculous to take place, if we would but trust it. <o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Peace and blessings to you all…<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt; text-align: center;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbi9s36ZZcERx_80IeGeaDkePHe8PD2AMHETsSaXhG-PTFBK8aDc4TbfgrOznvGUH6zFxSFzs4eo6mchbsGik7Tz-LCqpzp0yNeAiGqjhsCfPtFnHk87sw_XR5iJekvca0wB8gc9qNkp0/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="840" data-original-width="1400" height="192" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbi9s36ZZcERx_80IeGeaDkePHe8PD2AMHETsSaXhG-PTFBK8aDc4TbfgrOznvGUH6zFxSFzs4eo6mchbsGik7Tz-LCqpzp0yNeAiGqjhsCfPtFnHk87sw_XR5iJekvca0wB8gc9qNkp0/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VzIQ8wM2ogRgMYFD9SJyzeWDb4MBmfv5d3bXgiYJUDWRkTX_KLBrFFdyabgeM4Keq0q2FcW9dtuYa1nyxUx5TdM0gXhXlEBeZUo7Y0A1YrPucy8SZniXsNnUYGTo6ke0sSkkTiFTX3s/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="680" data-original-width="890" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-VzIQ8wM2ogRgMYFD9SJyzeWDb4MBmfv5d3bXgiYJUDWRkTX_KLBrFFdyabgeM4Keq0q2FcW9dtuYa1nyxUx5TdM0gXhXlEBeZUo7Y0A1YrPucy8SZniXsNnUYGTo6ke0sSkkTiFTX3s/" width="314" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-25471133849560031582021-03-11T23:54:00.001-06:002021-03-11T23:55:42.681-06:00Happy Anniversary...<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">There are some events that are indelibly etched in my mind – blizzards, blackouts, 9/11, the insurrection…and March 12<sup>th</sup> of last year. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I remember details of such events, like which day of the week they were on, what I was doing, how I felt, if it was hot or cold, if I was scared. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I wasn’t scared.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">March 12<sup>th</sup>, 2020 was a Thursday and I was going to see the new Broadway musical about Princess Diana that night. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I took my father to his cardiologist appointment that morning. It was the last time we would go anywhere without a mask, but I didn’t know that then.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We ate lunch at our local diner on our way home, like we typically did. It was the last time we would do that, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">We saw our friends and fellow diner regulars. We hugged, kissed, and shook hands, without hesitation or forethought. Maybe if I had known it would be the last time, I would have lingered longer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By the time we got home and settled in, I was getting ready to go back into the city for the Princess Di show that evening. Before 5 p.m., my friend Anthony called to say Broadway had shut down. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Life as I knew it ended that day. Silently. Stealthily. Abruptly. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The next morning, I got up early and bought enough groceries for a month. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">And then I waited. Hunkered down. Watching the news. Eyeing the ever-increasing number of human casualties from a strange new virus we had no way to treat, or to stop, or to prevent. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I was in the first stage of grief – denial. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I told myself that this would last maybe a few weeks, at most. Surely, this strange illness would pass or we’d figure out a solution. We’re crafty like that. Besides, even after 9/11, Broadway was only dark for 48 hours. The show must go on. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">But it didn’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Like anything new, there’s novelty to it. I’m an introvert, working from home and now I had an excuse never to leave. It wouldn’t be hard for me, I told myself. And if I’m being honest, staying home hasn’t been. That was the least of it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">True to form, I started to ascribe a deeper spiritual meaning to the global time-out. The planet needed to heal from man’s abuse of it. Humanity needed to be sent to its collective room to think about what we’d done. The incessant hurrying needed to stop. We all needed to take a deep breath, to reflect, to regroup, and reset. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That would have been a life-transforming accomplishment. Unfortunately, most seem to have used their time to binge watch every cockamamie show ever streamed. So not so much on the whole “think about what you’ve done” thing. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Me, I didn’t binge watch until at least eight months into it. I didn’t watch anything other than news for a long time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I thought it would be the perfect quiet time to write and get a lot done. I wrote nothing. I was just glad that my father and I were well. He was in really good shape for a 91 year old when this pandemic started.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I began doing concerts from my living room. It was a way to connect and still make music. The first time was the strangest. Performing to dead silence, but knowing there are people out there listening. After a while, I made it a regular thing – the first Tuesday of every month at 8 o’clock you could find me on StageIt. If it did nothing else, it gave me the only thing I had on a schedule. It was something in a time filled with nothing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Runs for necessities were all consuming. Lines for hours to get inside the store, and an eerie quiet once there. There was none of the usual frenetic energy of people out and about. Everyone looked like a trauma victim, and what we most feared was each other. To ignore the peril was increasingly difficult. Though the elderly were targeted, this virus was claiming younger people in enough numbers for no one to be safe.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It wasn’t long before I knew someone who died from Covid-19. Then parents of friends and friends battling it, some at home, some in hospitals fighting for their lives. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The economy was in a free-fall. And I was praying daily for our frontline workers, which now included the people stocking the store shelves and picking up the garbage on my street. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The president was clearly in over his orange head and lacked not only empathy, compassion, and the ability to tell the truth, but the one thing we desperately needed – a plan to get us out of this mess. I was beyond pissed off.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Anger – the second stage of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">By July, my father’s health took a turn for the worse, though it was not Covid-related. That’s when I got to experience, firsthand, the hellish nightmare we were in, in a different way. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">It was summer, and my only saving grace was that the virus spread had slowed down enough for me to at least be allowed into the hospital for 3 hours a day to be with my father. I was there, waiting when visiting was permitted, and I only left when security made their rounds and told me I had to leave. It was excruciating. The staff was sparse and overworked and the care suffered for it.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">My cell phone was my only lifeline in July, August, and September, when my father was in and out of hospitals. Relatives and friends could support me by phone, but no one could be there in person, for him or me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I prayed for more things than I can articulate – strength, wisdom, protection as I navigated hospitals and my own potential exposure to the virus. I would have traded anything to secure a positive outcome. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Bargaining, - the third stage of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Autumn saw my father home, finally, but not nearly the same as he had been or will ever be again. What once was designated for old age now became the pervasive thought in my mind – the inevitability of death…and the utter fragility of life. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Everything was meaningless and meaningful, excruciating and beautiful at the same time. Nothing mattered and everything did. The fact that we even got up in the morning was a fucking miracle. And this has yet to leave me. I still feel that way. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Depression – the fourth stage of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Birthdays came and went quietly, and holidays approached with no possibility of gathering. I made the best of the masked drop-offs of gifts and the elbow bumps that replaced hugs. I tried to find humor in it somewhere, but nothing about it was funny, except the potential it had for being behind us one day.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The hardest thing, by far, was missing funerals. From the time the pandemic started until now, I lost four friends, an aunt, uncle, and three cousins. Though only two were due to Covid, the enormity of the loss would have been unfathomable even during normal circumstances. And these were not normal circumstances. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">For as hard as a funeral is, it is the start of the healing process. Absent that, there is a piece missing, a step skipped. And you can’t skip crucial steps when it comes to processing grief. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">The New Year carried with it the promise of a new president, a vaccination, and the chance to at least hope for a better future. Me, I was skeptical by now, and January 6<sup>th</sup> didn’t help matters.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Not only is life too damn fragile, but also, it turns out our democracy is only one successful insurrection away from toppling like a house of cards. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">That was it for me. I started learning the Canadian national anthem, brushing up on my French, and googling the path to citizenry. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Fortunately, Biden took office and got busy trying to help us out of this mess. And I started to look at life with an ever-so-slight glimmer of hope. If the pandemic continued, I would survive lockdown. If it vanished, I would face the new world with everyone else. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Acceptance – the last stage of grief.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Friends started talking about post-pandemic life. One said not to underestimate people’s capacity to forget. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I don’t think we can go back. At least, I hope we can’t. I am not the same person I was at the start of this a year ago. I could never be that person again. The only value there is in any experience is who and what we become because of it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">What would you tell your year-younger self? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">I’ve been giving this some thought, as this anniversary approached. I think I would tell her that, no matter what happened, she was enough to handle it, that no matter how isolated she ever felt, she was never truly alone, and that Schitt’s Creak is really worth the binge watch.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Wherever this anniversary finds you, I hope it’s on a path to healing. I hope that as we re-enter the world, we do so a little bit kinder to ourselves, the planet, and each other. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Happy Anniversary, dear readers. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">xo<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: medium;">Ilene</span><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpOPfkC70s4cWfVxP3lEqjkK9aJb8KRyU3-pzj5_H0M-Tau4mIBWizJ81EIjuWRsnn0dO3fSfpT1OAkWSwrKwQrlJe2XB5ZZC_ff_bMpeiYqu_SVvnQ0E-tdI5zkheVnPkhgbR7IBIIQ/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="1284" data-original-width="2048" height="201" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgKpOPfkC70s4cWfVxP3lEqjkK9aJb8KRyU3-pzj5_H0M-Tau4mIBWizJ81EIjuWRsnn0dO3fSfpT1OAkWSwrKwQrlJe2XB5ZZC_ff_bMpeiYqu_SVvnQ0E-tdI5zkheVnPkhgbR7IBIIQ/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /><p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-3528226876248173242021-02-07T16:06:00.002-06:002021-02-07T16:09:37.075-06:00My Annual Super Bowl Blog!!<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; font-family: Cambria; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zQkgKxXlvAZF6cz68YnwPoQ_ZxXG1BNUAdURX0cyVweplEFs4cqGzLzhdzsCxQ5HYeR_A-YwNV0Ftm0xcYFAL6cLZMAw_dpogsTk0n2KrXJH-lKo-BRHFV6CSzOM20WgwfhoFK9Wwp8/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="194" data-original-width="259" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj8zQkgKxXlvAZF6cz68YnwPoQ_ZxXG1BNUAdURX0cyVweplEFs4cqGzLzhdzsCxQ5HYeR_A-YwNV0Ftm0xcYFAL6cLZMAw_dpogsTk0n2KrXJH-lKo-BRHFV6CSzOM20WgwfhoFK9Wwp8/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">It’s time for my annual Super Bowl blog, the day when I traditionally run through the roster of football players’ names I actually know, which used to be limited to those contestants on <i>Dancing with the Stars</i>, a miscellaneous Manning brother, the guy who crosses himself, and Joe Namath. <o:p></o:p></span><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Unfortunately, I stopped watching <i>Dancing with the Stars</i> when they started dancing around barefoot. WTF with that?! It’s not ballroom. Put on a sparkly dress, a spray tan, some heels, and tango, dammit. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Anyway, all that to say, I don’t know too many football players these days. Oooh, wait - Tom Brady. But I think he’s a Trump supporter, so clearly traumatic brain injury has already set in. Bless his heart.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">As if the pandemic wasn’t enough to make it clear that the world is irreparably different, there will be poetry at the opening of the Super Bowl. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Poetry. At. The. Super. Bowl. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Complex rhyme schemes spoken live in front of a bunch of millionaire-oversized men, paid to jump on each other. Did I mention the traumatic brain injury thing? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">You can bet I’ll be tuning in for Amanda Gorman’s riveting words, and I really appreciate the heads up about it being at the beginning, so I don’t have to, you know, watch the game. Me, I actually AM a poetry lover. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">And if someone would be kind enough to let me know when it ends, so I can tune in for The Equalizer with Queen Latifah, that would be awesome. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Before we go any further, let’s talk about snacks. Just because I don’t like football doesn’t mean I can’t get onboard with snacks. Chips, wings, and Lipitor for everyone, that’s what I say. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I was supposed to be doing a virtual chili cook-off on zoom today, but I’ve had a migraine for close to a week, so I decided my time would be better spent on the couch here with you…and binge-watching the last few episodes of Schitt’s Creek. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Oh, don’t get me started on how much I love Schitt’s Creek. I’ve been sipping the seasons like a fine wine, savoring each delicious moment with the Roses. I do not want it to end. But alas, I know it will…tonight…while everyone else is watching the Super Bowl. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Now is the time I would normally impress you with my knowledge of the competing teams, but frankly, who cares.?!! I got no skin in the game. And seriously, you should be impressed with my usage of that phrase right there. I believe I bandied it about correctly in this instance. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Well, it’s time for me to go do physical therapy with my father. If you really want to see something impressive, it’s not a touchdown by professional athletes. It’s watching a 92 year-old man summon the strength he really doesn’t have, so he can stay mobile and living at home. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">I hope that whatever your Super Bowl plans are, you stay safe and well and have a good time. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;">Go Titans!! …or whoever’s playing.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><o:p><span style="font-family: inherit; font-size: medium;"> </span></o:p></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-25721911510040794312020-12-31T22:18:00.006-06:002020-12-31T22:45:20.500-06:00...a New Year's blog...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlDBdUTBcUhPBM25IW7FAidv7MfJV_rDu8B6EhyTr5uuL5dRIpym2OO8S0uNliPzNSenTmUF79U1U0BqsyJBe2MhZMNt8kTJv9rfMp4SW28L0bqNYD2TO_qNHqmUDt2kqFUyVH1A5y4s/" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="262" data-original-width="450" height="186" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWlDBdUTBcUhPBM25IW7FAidv7MfJV_rDu8B6EhyTr5uuL5dRIpym2OO8S0uNliPzNSenTmUF79U1U0BqsyJBe2MhZMNt8kTJv9rfMp4SW28L0bqNYD2TO_qNHqmUDt2kqFUyVH1A5y4s/" width="320" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Everyone I know is in a hurry to bid farewell to 2020, to toss it, shelve it, burn it, curse it. But me, I believe that lessons ignored are lessons repeated, so I am trying to frame the year within the context of what I’ve learned, or gained (besides weight), and who I’ve become as a result.</span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I honestly thought, when this worldwide time-out began, that it would be a global time of reflection and introspection. I thought we would pause just long enough to figure out that how we were operating was neither meaningful nor sustainable. I believed the isolation would be brief and impactful, and that the world would come out the other side better for it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I grossly underestimated the desire to cling to the old, to have things as they were, to resist necessary change, to distract with anything and everything to avoid my own discontent. And the world, it turns out, was a pretty accurate reflection of me.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There’s no building a house on a crumbling foundation, and as the year closes out, the way I see it is that 2020 was a giant wrecking ball sent to demolish life as we knew it. And while the impact jarred us, and left us reeling in its after effects, focusing on the loss, what it affords us now is the singular opportunity to build a new life and world structure on a more solid and intentional foundation. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The losses are unfair, but their randomness forces us to be present to life’s fragility and impermanence. The isolation is excruciating, but will you ever again take any get together, big or small, for granted? The loss of complete industries is unfathomable, but will you ever dismiss anything from a haircut to seeing a live performance as mundane or forgettable? I won’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Of all the things I am most grateful for about 2020, it is the deepening of relationships. I have never treated them frivolously to begin with, but now? Now I cherish every moment. I have no superficial conversations, whether you are new to my life or have been here forever. I say the words “I love you” more frequently and with the knowledge that our next interaction isn’t guaranteed. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ve lost a lot of friends and relatives in 2020. And the enormity of these losses has made me more compassionate – towards myself and towards everyone else. We are all lost, grieving and hurting in different ways, so let’s be gentle with each other, since we don’t know where the wounds are on the other. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I have witnessed the immense divide in humanity, between our darkness and our light. The hate has left me gasping and speechless. But so has the love. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I’ve been giving a lot of thought to what I want to take with me and what I want to leave behind. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Can I be happy without making definitive plans? 2020 has made a mockery of my plans.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Of what can I be certain when life looks like I can be certain of nothing? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">What do I need versus what do I want? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">What will endure of me, even when I physically don’t endure anymore? <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">And the one that has been taking up a lot of real estate in my mind lately…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Who am I if I can no longer be who I was? <o:p></o:p></span></i></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There is a chance to make a fresh start, to lay a solid foundation, built on the stuff 2020 has forced us to learn. The unpleasant awfulness, yet intrinsic beauty of our own mortality. The preciousness of a moment. The eternal nature of love. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">There is little beyond our basic necessities that matter. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Every encounter and interaction with each other is a holy one, sacred in its delicacy, and anointed in its uniqueness. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">This world will not continue to exist when one life is valued more than another, when entire races, genders, orientations, religions are discounted, dismissed, oppressed, or discriminated against. It may have been that way for a long, long time, but it will remain that way no longer. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">The ugliness that has come to the surface and been exposed in the light of day has done so to be seen and healed once and for all. Hate is born of fear, and it is fear that is the opposite of love. Fear that there isn’t enough. Fear that what is different from me is threatening to me. Fear that we, at our core, are not enough. Isn’t it time we lay that shit down for good? It’s exhausting. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">So what I hope is that 2021 is the year we look at ourselves, at our lives, and at this world and decide to build a foundation with materials of abiding value. I hope that we stand in the rubble of our yesterdays and let them go. I hope we forgive ourselves for the wasted time and blatant disregard of our better angels. And I hope we take seriously the job of planting seeds, whether they be for food to nourish, ideas that will grow us, or relationships we cherish. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I hope that we will see that, for all its uncertainty, for all its ups and downs, for all its triumphs and tragedies, ecstasy and devastation, life is, in fact, good. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">I wish you a 2021 where each day is better than the one before, where you know you are loved and that your presence here matters greatly. I wish you happy surprises, good trouble, and adventures that thrill. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Most of all, I hope the day comes that I can see you again, in person, and can hug you. Be forewarned. I will hug you. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Until then…Happy 2021.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"><br /></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 16pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><i><span style="font-size: 16pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></span></i></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-42905221586343778582020-11-26T11:20:00.002-06:002020-11-26T11:22:46.625-06:00A 2020 Thanksgiving Blog<p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"></span></b></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqQwhJuQbCm-kXRI2kqIPHoSFcM4ot1UDxNCxxYdaYQSmaXWYlFW68E-Uzwa7FwyNS0EwTpXledfUx78XVoyjSedQS9zp-zpbzUW_4GKwJwrSzsd4U_jvxQcALVakAWNuriYHaOwL1zA/s960/47685142_10215217356959553_2197943492183851008_n.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="608" data-original-width="960" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYqQwhJuQbCm-kXRI2kqIPHoSFcM4ot1UDxNCxxYdaYQSmaXWYlFW68E-Uzwa7FwyNS0EwTpXledfUx78XVoyjSedQS9zp-zpbzUW_4GKwJwrSzsd4U_jvxQcALVakAWNuriYHaOwL1zA/s320/47685142_10215217356959553_2197943492183851008_n.jpg" width="320" /></a></span></b></div><b><span style="font-size: 14pt;"><br /><br /><o:p></o:p></span></b><p></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Every year, I traditionally do a Thanksgiving blog, randomly listing things I’m thankful for. </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">If ever there was a year I felt I needed to do that, it’s this one. It’s been eons since I’ve blogged, and even longer since I’ve felt free to speak my mind and heart. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I always thought that aging brings with it the gift of not giving a damn what others think, but it turns out that our individual and collective rage carry with it the side effect of prolonged hesitation to enter into confrontation. And the past four years have been nothing if not confrontational. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Plus, there have been others, like John Pavlovitz and Richard Marx, that have eloquently and colorfully stepped up and summed up my thoughts and feelings well, so I took a breather, albeit a very long one. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m back now and ready to rumble, I mean write. I’d like to share with you the best piece of writing advice I have ever gotten, courtesy of my cousin Erik’s Sunday Writing Sprints – “write the thing you’re afraid to write.” Doesn’t that just freak you out and liberate you all at the same time?!! (And if you’d like to join in the Sunday or Wednesday writing fun, here’s the link: <a href="https://www.erikpatterson.org/sundaysprints" style="color: purple;">https://www.erikpatterson.org/sundaysprints</a> ) <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">So that being said, I am entering back into writing with the idea that it’s time to say any and all things I’ve been hesitant to for a while. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Today, that involves the random and not-so-random things I’m thankful for…<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for my life and good health.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful that my father is still with me after the medical roller coaster of the last five months. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for my family and close friends, spread out though we may be. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for an older gentleman, who should have been able to retire and hang with his family, but instead knew his country needed him right now and so he chose to serve. It was a selfless act at a horrible moment, and I am immensely thankful that he did it. And while I’m on the subject, I love that his candidacy and win is the example of the underdog succeeding, the long shot coming in, and the people rallying to save our fragile democracy. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for my friends, Beth and Brian, who left their ailing physical bodies, but remain with me spiritually, energetically, and in my heart, always. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for apple pie. The kind with the crumbles on top. Not a la mode, but straight up, because I’m a purist. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for the gift of reflection during this pandemic, of contemplating what is and isn’t important, of recalibrating, reconsidering, learning to adapt, pivot, change.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for the gift of knowing the brevity and uncertainty of life. It has made me say “I love you” more often and to more people. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m grateful for new and deeper friendships forged during this new existence, and for the lengthy and reliable ones. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m grateful for who I am becoming, maybe unwillingly some of the time, but becoming nonetheless. Our character is forged by the challenges we face, never by what’s easy. An awful, but necessary realization.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for my tribe. You know who you are and you never disappoint. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for my niece, whom I adore, and who teaches me things constantly.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for my hair colorist. Ssshhh, don’t judge my unwavering need to be blond and feel younger than my gray will allow.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for watermelon. Seriously, God did really well with that one. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for music and art in all its forms. And I am immensely thankful that I get to spend my life creating it and sharing it. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for beautiful sunsets, puppies and babies that make me go “Awwww.”<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for having survived this year, when so many haven’t.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for hope in the face of despair, for joy as a conscious decision, for basic human decency, for compassion even for those who exhibit none toward me. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I am thankful for self-awareness, even when it’s hard. <o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for beauty, however it shows up.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">I’m thankful for you who are reading this and for this day of Thanksgiving.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">May your day be one of immense gratitude, too.<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Peace and blessings to you all. And please tell your friends, because the blog is back!!!!<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Xoxoxo,<o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Cambria; margin: 0in 0in 0.0001pt;"><span style="font-size: 14pt;">Ilene<o:p></o:p></span></p>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-8600188435546386882020-04-08T21:18:00.000-05:002020-04-08T21:18:00.107-05:00Redemption and Resurrection during a Pandemic<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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</div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Every year,
around this time, I write a blog about redemption and resurrection. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">This year,
it seems particularly appropriate to ponder such things, because, in the midst
of a pandemic, what better time could there be to contemplate the bigger
questions of life, death, purpose, intention, and yes, redemption and
resurrection? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Mostly, I
hear talk of how everyone wants this to be over and to go back to “normal life.”
But me, I think that’s like dating the same kind of guy over and over, because
you haven’t learned your lesson the first twenty times. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I don’t want
to go back to things as they were before this. I don’t want to treat time so
cavalierly that I forget tomorrow isn’t promised. I don’t want to put off the
people I want to get to know, or see, or say “I love you” to. I don’t want to
forget that nothing matters and everything does. I don’t want to forget that
life is fleeting, and beautiful, and excruciatingly fragile. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I want to
cherish the moments I get to hug someone, as if they are the last I will ever
have. And I don’t want to take for granted that worlds change in the blink of
an eye. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">For all the
things I did mindlessly before, like grocery shopping, I want to keep the
gratitude I now feel for every single person responsible for every bite I take
in as nourishment, and for the mail that gets delivered, and the garbage that
gets picked up. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I want to
look at my life through the lens of the gift this virus has to offer. That’s
right, you heard me. I prefer always to ask, “What is the gift in this?”
Because <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> is how I find it. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Part of what
I contemplate is this fourteen day window we seem to be perpetually living in -
the purgatory of waiting to see whether or not we develop symptoms, or the
fourteen day roller coaster that those with the virus seem to be on, not
knowing if they will be spared or taken. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">If I were to
look fourteen days down the road and know I’d be gone, what would I be doing
with this moment? What would I want to say? What would <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">that</i> bucket list look like? </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Our lives
are our legacy. Our stories should be told before they’re forgotten. We have
this golden opportunity for redemption now. For amends. For gratitude. For love.
For moments of laughter. And to grieve. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Yes, I want
to take this time to grieve and process the loss of time wasted and a way of
life that’s over, because, maybe one day we will be able to congregate together
again, but we will never be able to do so in the blissful ignorance we embodied
before this pandemic. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Now we know.
And we can’t pretend that we don’t. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I am
learning so many things now – that showing up doesn’t mean showing up
perfectly. It just means showing up. I am learning that the best I can do is
enough. It just is, and so am I, and so are you – enough. <span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I know that
my best intentions will sometimes fall short, and I will still be enough. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I’m learning
that my need to have things look a certain way has crumbled beneath the weight
of what the world needs of me at this moment. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">As for
resurrection, each one of us gets to decide the parts of our previous selves
worth resurrecting and the parts that are best left behind. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">I believe
this is a holy opportunity to surrender the superficial, to celebrate what we
once dismissed as mundane, to redeem that which is worth redemption within us,
and to resurrect the promise of a world where love is demonstrated in our every
utterance and action. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">May whatever
you celebrate and whatever you believe bring you peace and make the world
better. </span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;">Blessings to
you all,</span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<br /></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Georgia",serif; font-size: 16.0pt;"><i>Ilene</i></span></div>
<i></i>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-75262409101940875222020-02-11T16:20:00.001-06:002020-02-11T17:03:10.452-06:00"I'm on my way" - remembering BethAnne Clayton<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I know there will come a
time when I will stop counting the days and weeks, and I will become accustomed
to thinking of Beth as a memory, and not as someone I can call or see or text.
But I am not there yet. Today is four weeks.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Right now, I’m making my
way through each day, trying to navigate this new normal. I find myself wanting
to stay closer to her other friends, maybe because we all share a similar pain,
or maybe because of the piece of Beth each of us carries with us. Maybe it’s
just that I’m trying to make whole the hole her absence left. Whatever the
reason, I find comfort in these new frequent interactions. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I know if I were the one
who crossed over, I would want people to remember me with the times that made
them laugh and the way they were changed by our lives intersecting. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So maybe that’s the
tribute I can pay my friend, BethAnne, because there were no shortage of laughs
and there are ways that both her life and death changed me forever. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">...Beth and I moved to Nashville
the same week in June of 1996. She moved from New Jersey, and I, from New York.
We were introduced by our mutual friend, Robin, and we became immediate
friends. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">On one of our first
excursions together to the mall, she dared me to talk to a salesperson in full
southern drawl. Me, I enjoy the occasional dare, so I wasted no time giving it
a shot. My new friend, BethAnne, stood a few feet away, laughing her head off. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Later that same day, we
went out to eat at a loud, noisy chain restaurant, where I was ordering
chicken. The waitress asked me, “Gree-yalled?” I said, “What?” She repeated,
“Gree-yalled?” And I repeated, “What?” By the third time, Beth had had enough,
and she yelled, “Grilled! She’s asking if you want it grilled!” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nashville was where we
bonded. We played writers’ nights together, wrote together, shopped, and shared
holidays. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">She was the voice on
more of my demos than I can count, as well as background vocals on my two solo
records. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">We did crazy things,
like swap keyboards on an off-ramp of the New Jersey Turnpike. Don’t ask me
why. I’m sure there was a perfectly logical reason at the time.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Our lives eventually
took each of us back to our respective home states, where we lived 65 miles
apart - not exactly near, anymore, but not impossibly far, either. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Of all the things I
loved about Beth, I most cherish the kind of friend she was. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">She was the one you
could call at 3 a.m., if you were stranded on the side of the road, or in any
situation, really, who, before you could finish a sentence starting with,
“Could you…” already had one foot out the door, saying, “I’m on my way.”</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">One time, when my father
was in the hospital in Manhattan a couple of years ago, he was in surgery and I
was in the waiting area. “Are you alone there?” Beth texted me. When I said,
“Yes,” her next text was, “I’m on my way.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">She had just finished
chemo and it was the first time I’d seen her without a wig, with her hair
starting to grow back. She stayed with me the rest of the day, and visited with
my father when he awoke. My father adored her. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Beth and I were born
three months apart, and we shared the same early pop culture tastes that formed
the backdrop of the musicians we later became. Whether it was Carole King, or
James Taylor, or Barry Manilow, or Donny Osmond, we spoke the same language and
had the same frame of reference. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Speaking of speaking the
same language - a word about food. We could be in the middle of any kind of
session, writing, recording, you name it, and even if we were eating at that
very moment, there was always discussion about what we were doing for the next
meal. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">“It’s all about the
food,” Bethie would say, with me nodding in fervent agreement. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">When she thought someone
was conceited, she’d say, “He thinks who he is,” and truth be told, I love that
expression, grammar notwithstanding. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">If there was a special
occasion, Beth would write a parody for it. For my 50th, it was a take on “Come
on, Eileen,” complete with the accompanying framed lyric for me to take home. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">For <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> 50th, we went to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beautiful
- the Carole King Musical</i>. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">By the time we each
turned 51, Beth had been diagnosed, and that unspoken ticking clock that marks
our length of days was looming larger. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">For my birthday, she
made me a meatloaf and took me to see Donny & Marie in Atlantic City. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Now ordinarily, a
meatloaf might not warrant a mention, but if you’d ever tasted BethAnne’s meatloaf,
believe me, you’d mention it, too. Best damn thing I ever had. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">In Atlantic City, we
took pictures with the cardboard Donny & Marie cutouts near the theater
entrance, because why else are they there? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Beth and I had so much
fun that for <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">her</i> Birthday, we went to
see them do their Christmas show. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">By then I had heard the
tale of how she went with her sisters to see the Osmonds in concert when she
was young. And while her sisters had no issue with rushing the stage and
interacting with Donny, Beth was too shy and stayed behind. I could hear the
lingering regret in her voice. That’s when I thought, wouldn’t it be nice if
she could meet Donny now? How hard could it be? </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ll tell you how hard
it could be - hard. I couldn’t find a manager, agent, publicist, or anyone. I
reached out to the venue itself. Nothing. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So we went to the
concert and had a great time, but I was privately disappointed that I couldn’t
pull this off. I had to let it go. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">If there’s one thing I
learned in the years leading up to Beth’s death, it’s that life has no shortage
of moments to enjoy and that our capacity to look for them and savor them grows
when we know how precious they really are.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">That’s how I wound up on
the phone with Beth one night, watching <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Hoarders</i>
together. She couldn’t believe I’d never seen it and so she had to experience
it with me. I could not contain my level of grossed-out-ness as I exclaimed,
“Eeewww” repeatedly throughout. I will say that it made me feel decidedly
better about the condition and amount of belongings in my house, but mostly I
will always remember laughing with Beth that night and how she HAD TO have me
watch it with her. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">One day a couple of
months ago, I was talking to a friend of mine who asked how Beth was doing. I
told her Beth was near the end. She asked if I was ever able to reach Donny
Osmond. “No,” I answered. Every so often I would search for a name, but to no
avail. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">“Let me see what I can
do,” my friend said. In no time, she had found his publicist, who, it turns
out, she knew many years ago. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Within 48 hours, Donny
had not only called Beth, but he had also listened to one of her songs and
heaped lavish praise on both her voice and the song. He said everything you
would hope someone would say. He was heartfelt and authentic and kind. And
though I’m sure most celebrities never contemplate being called upon to serve
people in this way, I am witness to the blessing it is when they do and I will
forever love Donny Osmond for doing it. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Beth passed on January
14th, 2020. The only consolation I have about that is that her immense suffering
is over. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">The greatest gift she
left the world is undoubtedly her son, Paulie, who kept her here and going for
far longer than the medicine and surgeries ever did. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Each of us grieves in
our own way, I suppose, and in our own time. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Today is the first day
I’ve written anything in a long while. Writing is the way I process life. This
I know about myself. It’s also the way I process death. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="color: black; font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It’s been four weeks
today. One day, I’ll stop counting.</span></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPFvFrsQsVJ1Vn-o4GNvG4tToqnU2sdr2g3D5tfaS3xFcDOkQFqF4Blh0xs9QfTkE2eAxBcRaJDTDaU3zDUm9dsdCm9fARHHm5QNIHe_E8cwt_ws-NbCrc0-YMS7bzYk_xd1PW6bxTOY/s1600/Bethie+and+me.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="960" data-original-width="944" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdPFvFrsQsVJ1Vn-o4GNvG4tToqnU2sdr2g3D5tfaS3xFcDOkQFqF4Blh0xs9QfTkE2eAxBcRaJDTDaU3zDUm9dsdCm9fARHHm5QNIHe_E8cwt_ws-NbCrc0-YMS7bzYk_xd1PW6bxTOY/s320/Bethie+and+me.jpg" width="314" /></a></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-54516119926118189092019-12-31T21:43:00.001-06:002019-12-31T21:43:37.645-06:00...sweet remembering
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Usually,
the prospect of a new year has me brimming with anticipation. I’ve got goals,
if not resolutions, things I want to accomplish, and this whole counting down
thing is like revving the engine before the big race begins. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">This
year feels nothing like that. And sure, it could be because I’ve had food
poisoning or a stomach flu or some such thing for the past few days, but I
think it’s really about the place I find myself now. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I’ve
got less invested in a set of specific goals than I do in the goal of simply
being happy. I am more interested in the depth of my relationships with people
than I am most other things. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">It’s
not that I don’t want to lose 30 pounds and purchase a new car. I do. But I
know that the value of those things depreciates, but the value of true
happiness and human connection only appreciates. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So
for me, I intend for 2020 to be the year I release old limiting beliefs and all
attachment to how things should look or play out. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
intend for 2020 to be the year I trust that the Universe has a way better and
more fun way for stuff to manifest than I do, so why not let it have its way
and enjoy the ride. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
intend to savor the moments, the love, the connections that make life sweet and
memories indelible. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
intend to up my game – as an artist, writer, and human. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
intend to read more, move more, and struggle less. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
intend to live in gratitude for every day and every breath. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">So
as we enter this New Year, thank you for being here and spending some of your
own precious time with me. It is appreciated more than you know. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
wish for you a year of fantastic health, passion, and purpose. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Peace
and blessings,</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Ilene</span></i></div>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<iframe width="320" height="266" class="YOUTUBE-iframe-video" data-thumbnail-src="https://i.ytimg.com/vi/lT-lz4_o7ec/0.jpg" src="https://www.youtube.com/embed/lT-lz4_o7ec?feature=player_embedded" frameborder="0" allowfullscreen></iframe></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "Bookman Old Style",serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">P.S.
Here’s a song to toast in the New Year…. </span></div>
Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5574855334788986272.post-62345547724532264272019-11-26T20:46:00.000-06:002019-11-26T20:49:59.056-06:00...what kind of memory we'll be...a Thanksgiving Blog<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">When
I write songs, I frequently foreshadow things to come. Lyrics have not just
become more potent over time, but it’s as if I write things I somehow know I’m
going to need to hear later on. This phenomenon still surprises me, even though
it’s been going on for eons now. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">A
few years ago, when I was writing songs for my upcoming record, I went to see <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Beautiful – The Carole King Musical</i>,
which was in previews at the time. By intermission, I looked at my friend,
Anthony and said, “There hasn’t been a good song about friendship in a really
long time. We should write one.” So Anthony and I started to write a song with
my friend, Tanya, who was producing the album. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
thought I knew a lot about friendship with each of them and their spouses.
Heck, my friendship with each pre-dated their spouses. I thought I understood,
not just the good times, the dinners, the laughter, the happier moments, but
the loss of parents, the items salvaged in the aftermath of floods, the
holidays shared, the highs and lows of careers and personal choices. I thought
I understood the depth of what friendship could be, at its best. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
really had no clue. The lyrics to “Friends Like Me and You” were a nice
sentiment when we wrote them, until they became the truth, word for word. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Five
weeks ago, I felt myself losing not only blood, but the battle for consciousness, too. It happened quickly. It was unexpected, and as with things
that catch us off-guard, I didn’t realize the extent of the situation I was in,
until it was critical.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">There’s
a lot I do not remember now or just plain wasn’t conscious for, but I do
remember hearing, whether psychically or physically, Tanya’s husband, Arnie shouting,
“Call 9-1-1!” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">I
did.</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Anthony
and Renato got to my house before the ambulance did. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Renato
stayed with my 91 year old father, while Anthony rode with me in the ambulance.
It was a bumpy ride I never imagined myself taking. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">When
we got to the emergency room, Tanya was there. I do not want to know how she
got there in that short time. I’m sure there were guardian angels involved
and a lack of proper law enforcement on the highways. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Tanya
and Anthony stayed with me all day and into the night, through emergency
surgery and blood transfusions. They updated my father, reached out to my
brother in California and my closest circle of friends, whose prayers and help
were both necessary and appreciated. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
friends did everything I needed, from laundry and meals in the days to come, to
rides, groceries, doctor visits, keeping company, handholding, you name it. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Suddenly
I understood the lyrics to my own song, “…when the chill took hold and my
strength was gone, you carried me till I could carry on, cause that’s what true
friends do, friends like me and you.” </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">All
of us will become memories to others in days ahead. I look at my friends and
they are forever etched in my memory as the people who showed up, whose compassion and love
outweighed convenience and whatever else they could have been doing at the
moment I needed them most. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My
health is improving every day, and my gratitude has never been greater. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Traditionally,
I write a Thanksgiving blog and end it with a laundry list, in no particular order,
of whatever pops into my mind that I’m grateful for at the moment. So here are
just some of the things that come to mind this Thanksgiving…</span></div>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b><br /></b></span></i>
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><b>I am grateful for…</b></span></i><br />
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Life. Being right here, right now. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Hugs.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">My family.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Dreams that have come true, and those
that haven’t.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Musical theater, cause I believe life is
best lived with outbursts of song and dance. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Nourishment for my body, mind, and soul.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Natural beauty, like sunsets, and autumn
foliage in New England, and mountains no human could have conjured, let alone carved.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Books.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Puppies and babies.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Jokes that make me laugh till my sides
hurt.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Unexpected opportunities. </span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Three-part harmony.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Clean drinking water.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Time spent with people I love.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Football. Okay, that one was just to see
if you were still paying attention. I am not the slightest bit grateful for
football.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Kindness, compassion, and mercy.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Gut instincts, flashes of inspiration, and
knowing when to listen to both.</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Friends like me and you, both the song
and the actual friends…</span></i></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Whatever
you are doing this Thanksgiving, I hope you find yourself being a beautiful
memory for those around you. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Thank
you for stopping by and for sharing a few minutes of your life with me. </span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Peace
and riches blessings to you,</span></div>
<br />
<div style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;"><span style="font-family: "bookman old style" , serif; font-size: 14.0pt;">Ilene</span></i></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
#friends, #friendslikemeandyou, #songwriters, #singersongwriters, #kennyloggins, #duet</div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike>Ilene Angelhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12383734087053546190noreply@blogger.com0