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The scab is off, and the wound of America’s history is bleeding. Again. Perhaps because a black man is president…? It’s a savage old wound, never really healed, and apt to erupt into pestilence at any moment. Medical terminology comes to mind: suppurating, necrotic, septic. In other words — it eats away at the flesh of…

Grief knows no timetable. And it’s a sneaky devil: it will creep up on you in an otherwise nice day, and lay you flat out. You won’t know what hit you. I mean it: formerly rosy days will grey, wilt around the edges, and it may take weeks before you remember…Oh! Mom’s gone. That would…

This is a time of mourning, for me. Of grieving for another America, one that we seem to have lost touch with in recent months (perhaps years…?). The America my father, my husband, my sisters and so many of my extended family & friends have fought for. The America of the Statue of Liberty, whose…

One of my favourite musical groups is Playing for Change, a social action movement w/ music as its platform. When I’m blue — not infrequently these days, as I cull tangible memories (‘stuff’ to the uninitiated) — I listen to their ’round’the’world hit Stand by Me, in which musicians from Santa Monica from Amsterdam from South…
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