Blessings 7-11-09

1. Post-dinner naps in the recliner.

2. Surrendering to the "garden flag" thing.

3. Caroline playing in her new, tiny inflatable kiddie pool wearing just her undies, in yesterday's warm sunshine.

4. Ben & Jerry's Vanilla Heath Bar Crunch.

5. Perennials on steroids. This year's rains have yielded humungous hedges of plants that last year stood only 3' to 4' high.

Blessings 7-08-09

1. One more day until I start my vacation.

2. Gas prices coming down 7 cents since last week.

3. Big, fat Crayola crayons on my desk, waiting for Caroline's visit this Friday.

4. The weeknight freedom of sprawling across our queen-sized bed; the weekend joy of sharing it with Michael.

5. Living in a state small and connected enough that my library card works in any Rhode Island city or town.

Blessings 7-7-09

1. Friends who understand, and friends who help me understand.

2. The way flowers look even brighter on a rainy day.

3. Homemade chicken salad, prepared the night before.

4. Clipping articles from the Providence and Warwick newspapers for Michael to read when he comes home on weekends.

5. Picking out favorite board books as a gift for a friend's baby that will be delivered tomorrow. (The baby, not the books.)

Blessings 7-6-09

1. Two working women out for lunch at a brick-walled bistro: Melinda and me.

2. Praying at the beach jetty one evening last week; seeing (suddenly! instantly!) a fragment of rainbow in the sky. Hi, Mom.

3. Discovering Curtis Salgado when his blues song "Twenty Years of B.B. King" drifts over from a neighbor's July 4 cookout.

4. This quote from Michael Jackson's memoir, Dangerous:

Consciousness expresses itself through creation. This world we live in is the dance of the creator. Dancers come and go in the twinkling of an eye but the dance lives on. On many an occasion, when I am dancing, I have felt touched by something sacred. In those moments, I felt my spirit soar and become one with everything that exists. I become the stars and the moon. I become the lover and the beloved. I become the victor and the vanquished. I become the master and the slave. I become the singer and the song. I become the knower and the known. I keep on dancing and then, it is the eternal dance of creation. The creator and the creation merge into one wholeness of joy. I keep on dancing...until there is only...the dance.

5. A long holiday weekend featuring:
• Granddaughter Caroline's first fireworks, watched in her jammies from our upper deck
• An all-American supper here with good friends from Providence, featuring hamburgers, Saugy's hot dogs, my potato salad, and Melinda's flag cake (decorated with blueberries and strawberries on a field of whipped cream).
• The first weekend of glorious weather we've had in months. It made my heart sing.
• Three days and three nights of Michael being home.
• Families and couples and neighbors and everyone from miles around, it seemed, coming to Oakland Beach, strolling the bike/walking path, buying clamcakes at Iggy's, setting off a zillion firecrackers and rockets, and being mellow and friendly.
• Our Take a Photo on July 4 group on Facebook. (This was the followup to the very successful Take a Photo from Your Porch on June 1. Stay tuned for Take a Photo on August 1.)

Now I'm going to include some photos to make up for omitting my blessings blogs this past weekend. Click on any photo to see it larger.

Thursday, 7/2: A lightning/thunder mashup a block away startles Daisy!

Caroline, our "flower girl," exploring my gardens in her waterproof boots. (7/3)

Orange daylilies are now in full bloom.

A splendid July 4. i thank you God for most this amazing day …


Three cheers for the red, white, and blue. And for prescription sunglasses so I can actually see this day in all its glory.

Evening moonrise, Oakland Beach (7/4)

People linger, savoring the cool clear air.

A young couple snuggles dreamily on the beach jetty as the sun sets.

Our house in its July 4 finery, seen from the bike path; Michael on porch.

Day is done; the flag waves on.

I absolutely love this photo Michael took at the beach during our walk on Sunday. (7/5)

What's going on here?

It's Daisy's preferred position on the second-story deck, looking out toward the bay. (7/5)

Beautiful boy

Watch this live (not lip-synched) performance by the Jackson 5 on Merv Griffin in 1974, when Michael was a vibrant young black man of 16. He is James Brown ("ha!"), Fred Astaire, Stevie Wonder; beguiler of audiences; consummate showman. Knowing now that he was gravely mistreated by his father to produce such performances makes me sad, but it doesn't diminish the joy of seeing a bright talent ascendant. You literally cannot take your eyes off him.



It will be one week tomorrow since Michael Jackson died, and until today I have passed somewhat lightly over the news, alternating in my comments between casual snark and obligatory praise for the man's talent. To be honest, he looked so terrible in recent years, I wasn't surprised to learn of his sudden death. He had ceased being a performer and instead become, in my mind, a loony scarecrow living an unthinkably odd life.

Why, tonight, do I suddenly care? Why am I sitting here watching Michael Jackson music videos on YouTube and feeling myself clench in ... what, grief? For ... a freak? Am I crying at this very moment for his glorious youth? For mine?

Perhaps I've read too many debunkings of the child molestation charges; read evidence of the tortured, lonely existence of a closeted gay man-child; read a short but soul-shaking commentary by columnist Andrew Sullivan that begins, "There are two things to say about him. He was a musical genius; and he was an abused child."

How could I have forgotten my immersion, in the early 1980s, in Jackson's seminal solo work on his breakout albums Off the Wall and Thriller? The giddy abandonment of dancing around our living room with my then-teenaged stepdaughter to "Billie Jean" and "Beat It"? The rush of watching him, live on the MTV awards show, glide into his patented moon walk?


A long, fantastically choreographed video of Jackson's song "Smooth Criminal."

I can't help but think that, despite the comfort of his three children and the adulation of fans around the world, Michael Jackson's gentle soul was as tortured in the last decade as the poor flesh of his catastrophically carved face.

This evening on the Web, I've revisited the Michael Jackson who entranced me 25 years ago. That's how I choose to remember him: young, lean, on fire, alight with androgynous sexuality, lifting his gorgeous alto-soprano in song, whirling in an explosion of vitality. Rest in peace, beautiful boy.

Blessings 7-1-09

1. The sea.

2. Smell of the sea: brine, faint diesel fuel, seaweed.

3. Breeze off the sea, gliding its soft skin over mine.

4. Color of the sea: deep blue, pine, tea, white-riffled, steel.

5. Sound of the sea: shushing waves, seagulls' barks and mews, boat horn, sailboat-race cannon.

6. The sea, the sea, the sea.

Blessings 6-30-09

1. Evenings on the beach, just wandering, watching, smiling at other walkers.

2. Night sounds outside our house: crickets chirruping. The shushhh of gentle waves on the nearby shore. The crazy mockingbird atop a street light that sings his heart out in the wee, dark hours.

3. Big fat juicy blueberries.

4. Mary next door emerging with a cheery wave in her purple pants set, red knee-highs, red patent pumps, and red straw hat – hot to trot with her Red Hat Society friends.

5. The evocative names of my new Yankee candles: Island Spa, Beach Walk, Evening Air.