What Kind of Year Has It Been?

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 am reflective and a tad melancholy, so I thought, why not bring all of you down with me?

 

I jest. Sort of. 

 

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 be.

 

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?”

 

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?

 

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.

 

2022 has been a tough year, and not just because it feels like the 27^th 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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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 me. 

 

If you had told me any time prior to this past year that people whose work inspired me would become fans of my 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.

 

Are there dreams you haven’t yet dared allowed yourself to dream?

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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?!” 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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.

I hope 2023 finds us being honest with ourselves.

 

I hope we stay awake to our fragility and have compassion for one another, knowing how brief our time here. 

 

I hope we maintain a sense of humor, because just about everything is funny if you know how to look at it right.

 

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. 

 

In 2023…

May you be healthy

May you be peace-filled

May you be prosperous

May you be generous

May you be kind

May you be fulfilled 

 

Happy New Year!

 

xo

Ilene

...The Person in the Old Headshot

There’s this thing going on in social media where people are posting their old headshots. 

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.

 

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. 

 

I said, “Who is that person?” about his headshot.

 

That, of course, got me thinking – who was the person in my photo?

 

Who was she, and what would I want to tell her? What do I wish she had known? 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

I wish that Ilene had an ounce of the self-approval that today’s version has. She might’ve sauntered.

 

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.

 

I wish the woman in that old headshot knew that speaking up wasn’t optional and that she was a leader, reluctant or otherwise.

 

I wish old headshot Ilene wasn’t so afraid to be seen.

I would tell her to laugh more. It’s good for your health.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

I would love to tell the old version of me some of the outrageous and amazing things we were gonna do together. 

 

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.

 

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.

 

Still, the Apple thing is kind of a bummer…

A Barbra Streisand Birthday Blog!

Today, I’ve been pondering why I’m grateful to Barbra Streisand.

 

Historically, when I’ve written about anyone for his or her birthday, it’s been someone I’ve known personally. Not this time.

 

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. 

 

She isn’t someone whose picture hung on my wall in a passing adolescent phase. But she is 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. 

 

So today, on her 80^th birthday, I want to say “thank you” from this particular songwriter and activist.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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:

 

“A man is commanding, a woman is demanding.

A man is forceful, a woman is pushy. 

He’s assertive, she’s aggressive. 

He strategizes, she manipulates.

He shows leadership, she’s controlling.

He’s committed, she’s obsessed.

He’s persevering, she’s relentless.

He sticks to his guns, she’s stubborn.

If a man wants to get it right, he’s looked up to and respected.

If a woman wants to get it right, she’s difficult and impossible.”

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

So Barbra, if you’re reading this – I wish you many more happy, healthy, joy-filled years…and thank you.

 

Love,

Ilene

My Annual Super Bowl Blog!

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.

 

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. 

 

I’ve been schooled by fans of the sport that there is, in fact, strategy involved. Teamwork. Camaraderie. Some form of ingenuity. 

 

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.

 

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?

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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.

 

Oooh, speaking of which, there’s a great documentary out on Public Television about Randy Gardner. It’s called Go Figure and it is chock full of stunning skating. If you are a fan of the sport at all, you must see it.

 

See that - I can talk about sports…or at least figure skating.

 

Meanwhile, I’ll be listening to Whitney today, hoping she found the peace she never knew while she was here.

 

Whatever your Super Bowl Sunday activities might be, I hope you stay safe, healthy, and enjoy them.

 

Until next year…Happy Super Bowl!

Whitney Houston Star Spangled Banner

Good Stewards, a Thanksgiving Blog for 2021

May we be good stewards of the gifts we’ve been given.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

The truth is I have two responses to the question, “How are you?” 

 

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.

 

The other response is to burst into tears. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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…

 

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.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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. 

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.

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.

 

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.

 

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.

 

I am grateful for friends who walk this life with me, who keep me sane, grounded, and laughing most of the time. 

 

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.

 

Thank you for stopping by and spending some time with me. 

 

May we all be good stewards of the gifts we’ve been given.

 

Happy Thanksgiving

A Birthday Blog for 2021!

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

Climate Change – The Musical.

 

I jest. My show has nothing to do with climate change, although, now that I think about it, it could totally work.

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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.

 

While hibernating, I’ve remained woefully ignorant about shows to binge-watch, but I have 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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

So in an effort to find balance, those other projects keep me sane, productive and moving forward, while still in my house. 

 

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.

 

Our time here is valuable, priceless, and brief. And I am so grateful that you chose to spend some of yours with me. 

 

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.

 

Peace and blessings to you always,

Ilene

Redemption and Resurrection in 2021

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. 

 

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.

 

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.) 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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.

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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. 

 

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 to us, but it all happens for us. 

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. 

 

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 that is the takeaway. 

 

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. 

 

Peace and blessings to you all…

 

Ilene