I had a dream about a friend who died a few years ago. It was an odd "visit" Things between us still somewhat unresolved.
This poem. Very short. Which, if you have read my book "Small Bites" you know that's how I write them
I called to say goodbye
she said
words she had practiced
until they were completely right
said to
unanswered rings
that played in her ear
You were probably
scattered in the wind
Fitting and proper for a gypsy dancer
But I have no place to sit and mourn you
No place to lay a single white rose
No place to shed my tears
I will think of you
As I watch the waves push onto the shore
Or in a garden of trees
I think of our early days
Laughing
And lying on the cool cement of an airplane hanger
Drunk from the heat and too much sloe gin
Always laughing whenever we were together
I will try not to regret
What should have been
And rejoice what was
And is always with me.
so, I did a thing last night. I read from my book and talked about poetry, these poems and life in general to a group of about ten people. I think it went well and I appreciated the love and support from people who knew how important this was to me.
I wrote a book. Yes. After around 60 years of saying and dreaming I did it. I have read one or two poems at local open mikes but this was all .. me. Talking about me and my process and my history.
I think it went ok.
Several people asked "what next?" I don't know, but this morning I thought I would start writing more poems. I started THIS blog to write every day and maybe I should spend more time doing just that- this blog plus poetry every day.
I think I will start a personal blog for my poetry and see where it takes me, sharing here when I think it is appropriate.
My book is available on Amazon, but the Friends of the Los Feliz Library bought a batch, I have them so if you want one, hit me up. Donation goes back to the Friends $11 bucks.
This one can be signed by me ( lol)
Do you believe in ghosts
she asked
not looking at me
but drawing out lazy circles
from the condensation
of her now-empty glass
Do you mean ghosts that appear
in front of you
at the foot of your bed
wordlessly demanding answers
or the kind that attach themselves to your soul
Haunting you
with longing
and regret
for the past they alone inhabit
I suspect she could not answer me
any more than I could answer her
as she continued to stare at her fingers
tracing circles in the non-existent culaccino
\
I miss shoe stores.
When I was a little kid, we would buy shoes twice a year- before school in September and as Summer approached. We had two pair of shoes: school shoes and play shoes. In summer we got sneakers and sandals. Do you remember looking at the shoes, having the clerk measure your feet with the Brannock Device and then sliding the shoe, ever so carefully, on your foot? it was.. magical. I have a friend who said her daughter called going to the shoe store her Cinderella Day. I guess it was.
I miss Payless Shoes. You could go in and look over racks and racks of shoes, try them on and walk out. My feet don't always conform with the size so I need to "try before I buy" -getting shoes online is a pain in the patoot! I also suspect that like most women's wear, shoe sizing is not true to anything and more like a vanity size than the real thing ( ooohh I wear a size SIX)
When I was a teen, I shopped endlessly in Malls. My mom would sit down with me at the start of the school year to see what I needed and what my budget was. Because I knew our finances were tight, I gave her the closest estimate I could. She let me keep whatever I didn't spend BUT I had to buy everything on my list. I was usually pretty close.
I am getting to a certain vintage. I am not yet at the cane-waving GET OFF MY LAWN phase of life, for starters I don't HAVE a lawn- but I miss things from my childhood. . I miss the slower pace. Today everything seems so sped up ( do you find yourself YELLING at the microwave to "hurry up I don't have all minute" ???) I miss Thrifty ice cream counters The ice cream man coming down the street. Playing baseball in the street ( yelling CAR when one came slowly down the street I lived on a small street and everyone who lived there knew we might be playing in the street. I live in a small apartment building now and I have made an effort to know my neighbors. When I was married the first time, we lived in a house and barely knew our next-door neighbor but as kids in the 60's we were in and out of each other's houses all the freaking time.
I miss that.
What do you miss?
On this day in 1981, My friend Laura E. Hernandez passed away from Lupus. It wasn't the first time someone I knew died, but this one hit me between the eyes. Part of me knew she was dying, but part of me was firmly in the land of Denial. After all we were in our early 20's and people our age don't die from illness.
But she did.
Her life was such a spark. Someone said she was an angel walking and I suppose that's as close as you can get to a description. She was human sunshine, a fierce friend and a genuinely good soul. I think she must have completed her mission here I think of her often- I went so far as to give her middle name to my daughter. I can't hear the Christopher Cross song "think of Laura" without sobbing- which is the antithesis of what the song tries to do. I often think of what her life would have been like if they had the medical knowledge they do now. The memory of her life and the sweet, fun times we had overtakes the sadness.
Timing sucks, but I am currently reading the Newberry Award Winner "all the Blues in the Sky" about a young girl whose best friend in killed by a hit and run driver while on her way to see her. I'm about halfway through the book. I keep having to put it down. It deals with grief, guilt and anger in a way teens can understand ( this is a book for Young Adults) It is well written- it Is A Newberry, after all!
It got me thinking about people I knew who died when I was a kid. Car accidents, household accidents, shot by police, suicide. I did have a neighbor who was about 19 who had a viral infection that attacked his heart. He was super healthy and athletic. I never understood that.
As I get older, I find I am going to more funerals or memorial services. It sucks but it is a fact of life. I try to think of it this way, mourning a death means I got to celebrate a friendship. There is an expression from the Jewish tradition, which I have adopted as it means more to me than the traditional Christian platitudes like "they've gone to a better place" or "Heaven needed an angel" ( don't start me on that, since I FIRMLY believe that humans do not transition to angels) They say "May their memory be a blessing" It aligns with what I often say May the joy of their life soon overtake the grief of their passing. It works for me.
As I remember my friend Laura today, I will Share a poem she once put on a scrap of paper in my work inbox:
From Emily Dickinson
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee,
One clover, and a bee.
And revery.
The revery alone will do,
If bees are few.
That says mor than I just said.
I watched the half-time show that was making MAGA heads explode , even before they saw it. MAGA was all "HE'S GOING TO SING IN SPANISH!!!" HE's NOT AN AMERICAN!!!" ( spoiler alert, they have been citizens of this country since 1917- even if Felon47 doesn't know that)
I gave up trying to understand him- my Spanish is terrible and he was singing too fast for my ears to catch up- and I let the music and the visuals just wash over me. There were sweet surprises around every corner. I am fairly certain MAGA fainted dead away when he said God Bless America in English ( fake outrage "How could he say that?? that phrase belongs to us!!!")
The only thing more powerful than hate is love.
I woke up this morning with a song I had learned as a child playing in my head. When I was in elementary school , we had this woman who came infrequently to give us music lessons. She played an autoharp and taught us mostly patriotic songs, with a few songs written by folk singers who were not so patriotic ( Woody Guthrie, Pete Seeger) but his song- which I maybe misremembering went like this :
This is my country
Land of my birth
This is my country
Grandest on Earth
America stands for freedom
Americans are we all
So this is my country to rise and to fall
Anyone out there remember it or did I make it up?
We were taught that America was the best country in much less jingoistic terms than MAGA. We were taught "Give me your tired your poor" We were taught we were a great melting pot. We were taught "E Pluribus Unum" From Many- one
The thing in the White House is trying his best to tear that apart. He had a lot to say about Bad Bunny, and I wonder if he watched it or did he watch Kid Rock sing about having sex with minors- a subject near and dear to the Pedo-in-Chief's shriveled heart?
I would like to believe that the average American is starting to see what he is: a sad, vengeful creep who is trying to destroy the country. Sun Tzu is credited with saying "An Evil man will burn his own nation to the ground to rule over the ashes." I believe we are looking at that man every day. But is see the cracks forming. I see courage in the every day. I continue to hope.
The only thing more powerful than hate is love.
I had an attack at 3 this morning.
Here is what it felt like
The tickle begins
but I know better than to drink anything
Pant, tongue out
No.
Sit up
Pant harder.
it might be stopping
No.
Stand
Now Chris is awake
Questioning.
I lean over the stair rail still panting
Getting worse but so far My throat is still open
I can feel it starting to close
Fear rises
I push it down
Fear will not help in this fight
Focus
Chris stands on the edge of my vison
There
I shake my head
This is MY fight
Pant
Hard
My body starts to clear the airway
Violent but necessary
Air
and the feeling releases at last.
Shaky. I sit down on the edge of bed
Take a precautionary puff of the inhaler
Talk to Chris
Fall exhausted back to sleep
I don't DO resolutions. Resolutions are often unattainable, so I set intentions.
This years, I intend to be happier, look for the glimmers, be kinder.
Day Two, I've already blown it.
A person who went out of their way to be cruel to me, to ruin my life when I would not bed to their will is in the final days of their life. I am remembering not the things they did before they decided I was worth destroying, wondering if the nice stuff was just a way to suck me into their plans. I will not say what they did to me, but after I escaped they went all scorched earth, trying to ruin my reputation. What they did not see was I no longer cared what those in her circle thought of me. If they knew me and believed the lies well that was on them.
Still as they lay dying in hospice, probably non of their children keeping any sort of bedside vigil, I think negative thought ( I just did it here, so you see where my brain is)
I need to work on this version of "Forgive and forget" I'm gonna forgive them , then forget them. They mistook my kindness for weakness.
Still working on living my intentions. It's harder than I thought!
The ice cream store
I went to as a little girl
with my grandmother
closed
My grandmother always got Bing Cherry
I got rainbow sherbet
They sell the brand in the grocery store nowadays
but I doubt they even make Bing cherry anymore
and I never see rainbow sherbet
I think of my grandmother
and things that disappear
when you aren't looking.
Remembering things
that are no longer there
I close my eyes
try to smell it
taste it
touch it
to be in that place for that moment
back in that long forgotten time
in the bubbles of my memories
that burst
and leave me
emptier than I was before
I discovered Warren Zevon, in of all places, the library. Warren is considered by many to be the most literate of rock songwriters, so it should be no surprise that I found his self titled album, sometime in the late spring of 1976 propped up in the album bin in what we now call the YA section of the Pacoima Branch library. I often wonder just how it got there. The woman who was the "Teen" librarian might have been hip, or maybe the label sent it out to all the libraries in the system, I have no way of knowing but on that day I picked it up and flipped it over. I read the notes on the back and saw names of musicians I knew and loved- most notably, I suppose was Jackson Browne, whose music I had discovered a few summers before.
I checked it out and took it home. From the first notes of Frank and Jesse James, I was hooked.
I saw Warren several times in concert. I saw him at the Roxy, and at the legendary Universal Amphitheatre Concert where he went beyond curfew. It was an open-air venue at the time and they had a STRICT 11pm shut down but the crowd was screaming for more. He stalked onto the stage, growling "turn the house lights off! Turn the f-ing house lights off" when they remained he marched over to the piano, Sat down with a flourish and played "Desperados under the eaves" in the bright light.
I remember seeing him and Waddy, at either Jackson Browne's NYE Concert 1977-78, or the Lowell George Tribute The group was playing the song and they had a werewolf mask and were chasing each other, grabbing it and running- an elaborate game of Capture the Flag. Fun times and fun memories.
Last Night, We went to a Tribute Concert at the beautiful United Artist Theater in downtown LA Built in 1927, the gorgeous Rococo style theater is a wonder to behold. Beautifully redone, dazzling and welcoming at the same time.
I made the mistake of buying seats in the second balcony. I am somewhat disabled and last night's climb up two flights of marble stairs really did me in. The stairways have large carved wooden railings that I clung to every step of the way up and down. They DO have an elevator, but it was out of service and they were waiting for a tech to show up ( I know ALL about THAT!) Shout out to House Manager Eric, for trying- he offered us tickets on the ground floor, but only had two but there were three of us, so climb I did.
The show opened with Jordan Zevon singing "When Johnny strikes up the band" a song I always thought would be a perfect opening tune. Jordan reminds me of his dad. He is a wonderful musician in his own right. Somewhere I own- or owned- a copy of his CD "Insides Out" which may or may not have made it out of the house the last time I moved (IYKYK)
Artists after artists came forward to sing one of Warren's songs and to talk about what he meant to them According to other concertgoers who were keeping track the group did 31 songs.
Standout for me:
The performance of the little know tune "Follow Me" Warren was in a duo with High School classmate Violet Santangelo and it was a minor hit in 1966. While I did not keep track, exactly, I THINK there was at least one song from "wanted Dead or Alive" but I can't be sure.
I loved seeing the Second Generation Rock "children" as well. Inara George, Chris Stills and Shooter Jennings. Shooter was a revelation- I am having a senior moment here as I CANNOT remember the song he did! He did mention that Desperados Under Eaves" changed his life but he did something else. The song was beautifully done.
There were a lot of technical difficulties. Lots of them. Marshall Crenshaw, in particular seemed to have trouble with his guitar and it resulted in something that sounded weird.
The guy who did one of my favorite Zevon tunes (sorry I can't remember his name"), "My Sh*ts F-ed up" was a HECK of a piano player but plowed through the song with the grace of a bulldozer. To me , he missed the nuances of the sardonic masterpiece.
I had quite forgotten what a lovely voice Susan Cowsill has. She did a wonderful version of Mohammed's radio- a song she said Jackson brought her when she was 15.
I loved the stories that people told before singing their song. I wonder what Jorge Calderón did that Warren had to bail him out of jail before they met ( the MC told that story that Warren's wife sent him to get him out of jail.
So many wonderful stories.
Other standout moments Included:
Jordan talking about trying to get his dad to play with his bandmates, then launching into "Monkey Wash, donkey rinse with them AND the recording of Warren singing. I love that particular new live technique- My OTHER favorite band , America, does that with the late Dan Peek. It is moving and joyful all at the same time
Jorge Calderón standing alone in the spotlight near the end of the show, working his way with great emotion through "Keep my in your heart"
Jackson Browne singing "don't let us get sick", a song he has been doing in his own shows- or did the last time I saw him. The last time I saw him do it about a year or so ago, this rather talkative guy behind me, who was trying to impress his date, said loudly "that is an old English folk song ( I had had enough of him talking and just KNEW he would talk through the whole set) I turned and hissed at him WARREN ZEVON! He ( as my daughter says) stayed quiet after that.
The show was also a fundraiser for Asbestos Awareness and the Ed Asner Family Center.
The crowd were singing their best AH-HOOOs to end the show. I went downstairs to avoid having to navigate crowds- my disability was on full display and I am proud to say I did not swear (much) as I eased myself down two flights. My friend and I stood at the back of the house for "Send Lawyers, Guns and Money" a phase I OFTEN use at work. We scooted out as soon as it was over. Note to self- do NOT park at a parking garage that says it closes! My husband had to leave to rescue the car, because the lot was closing- the show went well past 11:30 and I didn't want to have to figure out how to get home!
Reflecting this morning, I was glad I went, happy to hear so many songs I knew by heart. They talk about Zevon's legacy. For me the music, beginning with the wildness and ending with painful raw beauty holds sway. To quote from W.H Auden "when a just man dies, lamentation and praise, sorrow and joy are one"
That says more than I ever could.
I was reading an article from, I think AARP, about what NOT to carry in your wallet.
It said the usual things, you know- not too many credit cards, not your SS card or even your Medicare card. but this one stopped me dead in my tracks
My Library card.
They went on to say that a thief might steal the card, go to the library and check out a boodle of books and sell them.
That's a stretch, even for me.
Frankly if my wallet was stolen one of the first things I would do- after freezing my credit cards, would be to report it to the library. Not for fear of theft but I can't get by without my card! My little ancient orange and blue beauty holds pride of place in my wallet. LAPL, where I not only work but have had a card since I could write my name (which was the standard for "membership" in the 1960s) is more than JUST a card. I can use it to go to local attractions, stream movies, take classes. Well, you get the picture.
If I lost it I would ALSO have to memorize a new number and THAT would suck. I can rattle off the number like a grade-schooler reciting the alphabet. I wonder these days if my brain has the bandwidth.
So what do YOU think? I personally have a hard time thinking ANYONE would snag someone's card and use it for nefarious purposes, but I haven't worked in a branch since 1982 and times HAVE changed.
Let me know it the comments!
I have been thinking about stuff lately. Trying NOT to have every waking moment consumed with what is going on politically in this country.
The aim is to exhaust you so you stop fighting back.
Not doing that.
So, I am goin to theater, museums and to the local garden for walks among the trees. I don't know why trees seem to calm me, as if they are speaking to my soul. There is a bench, among the trees that sits on a stream. It's my favorite place there and when I walk across the garden, I always hope the bench is empty and waiting for me. I know it's selfish, but it is my relief. There are other benches placed in the area , but that one, donated by a couple named Jack and Sallie, is my favorite.
But on this quiet Sunday morning, there IS something that is bothering me.
I read a column by Sean Dietrich a writer who is a fiddle player, or maybe a fiddle player who is a writer- not sure which. He mostly writes what they used to call Human Interest Stories, about people or places he encounters in his daily life, either in person or in the letters people send him.
This week he is in Gettysburg and he spoke of ghosts. Old towns that suffered the type of trauma are, in my opinion, very likely to hold the spirits of those who died suddenly. They either stay because they want to or can't leave. I don't know too much about that side of things, but it makes some sense to me. I just got a book written by my friend, Russel Chan called "the White Light Meets the Thin Blue Line" about his journey to Mediumship. I need to sit down and just read it- I read the first Chapter but then all my library books came in and you know how THAT is. I enjoyed the first chapter. He has a good voice. When I finish it- hopefully this week I will post reviews. I owe a few reviews anyway.
Sean posted today that he got hate mail about his ghost column. I can expect nothing less from people who claim to be Christians and although I follow that faith, I am glad I am no longer going to church.
Case in point:
Recently there were supposed to be floods in Hawaii and there was some talk about Oprah Winfrey having a private road and people saying she didn't open it so people could escape. I read on one page of someone who is particularly religious about the misinformation and the VITROL of the supposed Christians was- I have no other word for it- evil. They gleefully consigned her to Hell and eternal damnation. When I found a link to a news article that this was NOT true, I posted it. Thankfully, the originator of the post, upon being informed, took it down, but I still recall these supposed church-goers and their judge-y Hellfire-and-Brimstone reactions.
I was also recently told that I would NOT be going to heaven, since I did not follow a certain branch of Christianity. The person I was talking to was ABSOLUTLEY certain I was going to Hell.
As my mom used to say that's ok all my friends are there.
I don't think I want to spend eternity with some of these people. That WOULD be my idea of Hell.
Now before you jump off on me, please know that whatever YOU believe that helps YOU be a better human is just FINE with me. Just don't try to tell ME what to believe.
I'm off this morning to meet a friend for lunch and a museum visit. I'll tell you about it later.
"I have measured out my life with coffee spoons" T.S. Eliot
I just opened a fresh pack of coffee filters. There are 200 of them. Often, when I open a fresh pack, I wonder where I will be when I use the last one- you know, what will I have done, how will the world and I have changed.
I often make a wish on the first one, that things that are going wrong will go right. I think about the cups of coffee I will gulp down on my way to work, or savor with friends,
I know. I'm Weird. Deal with it.
200 filters is 200 pots but not necessarily 200 days, I think that a pack of filters lasts me around 8 months. I make a pot every morning I am here, but if I have friends in for dinner, or someone needs to talk, I make a fresh pot.
My family calls my coffee "wake the dead juice" This comes from my daughter, telling my son-in-law who was working a double at his job, to "get some coffee from Mom. Her coffee could wake the dead"
When I was staying with my Dad after my mom died, he complained that my coffee was too strong and I told him "look, you KNOW I make it this way. I can't drink your weak coffee. Add hot water to it. There's nothing that makes weak coffee taste better." He took his coffee black and after a few days , he was just drinking it the way I made it.
Coffee is half again as expensive as it was a month ago, It went from $17 to $25 overnight. I believe I have Mr. Trump to thank for that. But I will keep buying my Sumatra beans and brewing a pot in the morning, or whenever someone needs a cup. Coffee has been my morning go-to since I was in Junior high. it's my last "vice" Even my doctor said two cups are ok. I really only drink it in the morning or on an evening occasion when a friend and I share coffee and conversation around my dining room table ( I have a "dining room table" but no dining room, but there we are.)
So did I wish on this first filter? You know I did. But like Birthday Candle Wishes, Coffee Filter Wishes need to stay secret, or they won't come true.
Regret
I hear a song you loved
think about the time you told me why
you loved that song
It's too late to talk about it now
Too late for anything
but imaginary conversations
But I try
I talk to you all the time
but my conversations are mostly
one-sided
I imagine what you might have said
how we might have
laughed and sang
drank and danced
I just miss the times that should have been
the future we should have had
and wonder if where you are
you miss me too
Dear John Fetterman
Please stop sending me texts and emails asking for money.
Seriously.
I have unsubscribed and "STOP'ed you a number of times and somehow I am still getting missives from you.
John. You lost me as a supporter a LONG time ago.
When you came into national attention, I DI support you. Although I live in California, my Pennsylvania roots go back to the beginning of the state (yes, they do) and I thought you were a fresh breath of air.
Past tense.
I'm sitting here, trying to think just when I decided you were just like the rest of the wolves in sheep's clothing.
After your stroke, when people said you should step down I supported you. I thought that we should give you a chance to see if you still had it.
I was wrong, John and I must admit that you snowed me.
I am trying to determine the exact moment I had an epiphany about you
Was it when you went to Mar-a-Lago and bent the knee to the Felon-in-chief? Did you sell your soul then?
Maybe it was when I was sitting in my living room, a mile from an evacuation zone, with my go-bag packed, while my friends lost their homes and were fleeing for their lives during the Altadena fires in January. I got a text from you. Was it a message of hope and support ( my area code on my phone should have indicated a California connection to you and your staff) Nope. You were asking for a donation.
It think that did it. You are just as soulless as your Dear Leader.
This morning, despite having numerous request for you to STOP, your "team" sent me another missive.
As my dad, a proud son of Chester PA would have said, "take a long walk on a short pier"
I remember going to a presentation by a Haiku master, who said the following rules apply
I am going to play with the format a bit
As man attacks her
Nature hurls back her defense
The Earth is awake
Walking on the path
We do not see the flower
Blooming for no one
I miss the craft of poetry. It can be work or it can just fall out onto the page, it is never clear which way the poem wants to go.
Often I approach them with the same idea a painter I knew in college took- something to the effect of just doing it and not editing it ( I think she said she was taught that her work needed to be completed in 7 minutes, but it was a LONG time ago and I may be mis-remembering it) sometimes, a poem will sit in draft for a long time and I will either edit it or delete it if I cannot remember just what I wanted to say.
I was talking to Chris today about really focusing on my art. Art is the thing that restores us and in these dark days in this country, we need to remember to make space for it. I fear the Fascists will only endorse what THEY like ( hideous things, monuments to themselves, covered in gold) It is only a matter of time until the Kennedy Center is rebranded the Trump Center, isn't it?
Keep making art, whatever you do. Let us not sink into despair, as long as we can fight back.
Update. There is a problem. I have to go in for more tests. I keep telling myself it's nothing.
I have an appointment this morning for a mammogram I am not looking forward to it, but I am not dreading it ( the same cannot be said for some of the other "fun" exams that women need to have done)
I have been having them every year since I was 48 I should have started when I was 40. My mother developed breast cancer in her 70's and they caught it early enough so she just needed a lumpectomy and radiation.
The reason I went is that I ran into a friend on the subway, who causally told me that she was better and that they had gotten all the cancer. alarm bells went off in my head and I scheduled a mammo. They found "something" and that something was getting ready to turn. I saw her on the subway a few weeks after my surgery and told her she saved my life. I stopped riding the subway a while after that and never ran into her again. So, wherever you are Shari, thank you,
I have had the "the doctor needs to see you" appointment three times. I have had three biopsies ( those FREAKING HURT) and two lumpectomies. Both were on the verge of becoming cancerous and I had a mammo every six months for two years after each surgery.
I am on top of it.
If you are reading this- and you ARE- please get your "girls" checked ( I call mine "the twins") If you have a friend who hasn't gone , encourage them to do it. It is uncomfortable, sure I am a particularly "voluptuous" girl and getting my tatas flattened is not my idea of a good time. I am fairly short and sometimes standing in one position is hard for me, but it's worth it.
I generally get my mammo in April. I am reminded by T.S. Eliot that "April is the Cruelest month" so I go. Today was the earliest convenient appointment. I'll let you all know how it goes.
I love Willa Cather. Well not Willa herself because I never knew her, but I love her books.
I read and re-read "My Antonia" over the years and loved "A Lost Lady" ( I never realized how much it echoes "The great Gatsby" until now)
But I just finished reading her short book- My Mortal Enemy
It is an interesting character study. The book I checked out had a very long and frankly judgy introduction to the book I stopped reading halfway. He declared Myra to be a thoroughly unpleasant person and had no love for the book.
The intro reminded me of term papers and I decided I did not want to read anymore because I wanted to come to the book fresh.
I enjoyed it. Nellie's observations of the Henshawes both in their very Flush period and at the end of their lives are details of the miniscule and we get a complete before and after.
I am NOT going to go all "English Major" here and opine that Myra Henshawe symbolizes the decline of a gentler age and the ending of the book is both sad and hopeful as Oswald Henshawe embraces the future.
Nope.
Jus that it was a good read.
More could be made of possible Infidelities on both sides that are hinted at but left to the imagination.
I am pondering Myra's dying declaration that she "must die like this, alone with my mortal enemy"
The narrator takes her to mean her husband, having said something about how love can grow to hate, but the Lit major in me asks. does she mean her husband or herself? She is disappointed in how her life turned out and wishes that she had not done some of the things she did.
Had she grown to hate herself, in looking back?
I have to think about that one.
I have three other books I have to read before I can go back to Cather. Anyone want to recommend what I should read next by her?
