Saturday, February 11, 2017

Yoga Man


Now that I am racing towards 60 (time does seem to quicken as one gets older), I look back on these photos taken when I was 50-51 with admiration for what I accomplished within 7 months: I got really, really, fit. More fit that I had ever been in my entire life. What was I doing? Going to yoga class twice a week, not drinking a drop of alcohol (my, but it slows down the metabolism), and taking a nifty drug called Klonopin—a benzodiazepine originally used to treat seizures in epileptics then found to help those with tinnitus. My own onset came suddenly when I was 49 when I woke in the middle of the night to the sound of bells crashing and banging, and the roar of a jet engine. 

"Sometimes, drugs are the only game in town!" is how my doc put it when I went to see him about 6 months after my onset, suicidal with a lack of sleep. But don't you know: the drug saved my life by providing me with a window of recovery, which I began by going to yoga.

I've stayed fit by continuing a yoga practice, and have also taken up rowing, which I do about 5 times a week for 30 minutes at a stretch. 

I've also learned to live with tinnitus. For that, I had to change my brain, a process that I wrote about on my blog VoiceTalk.

Proud of that guy. 

Friday, February 10, 2017

Tea & William Morris


With the arrogance of youth, I determined to do no less than to transform the world with Beauty. If I have succeeded in some small way, if only in one small corner of the world, amongst the men and women I love, then I shall count myself blessed, and blessed, and blessed, and the work goes on. 
—As quoted in William Morris & Red House (2005) by Jan Marsh, p. 65.

Sunday, February 5, 2017

At Home


The title recalls the term Victorians used for a concert at one's residence, though a performance wasn't involved here. The room is a working studio, where I teach the fine art of singing. It's also a living room. 


This Sunday evening, there was no watching of football. Rather, we streamed an episode of Poirot while having dinner, which consisted of a salad with chicken provencal—a recipe right out of the NYTimes. That and a lovely bottle of Bordeaux did nicely. 

The ebony handled serving pieces are mismatched, and were sourced from Ebay, while the Gothic candlestick (minus the crystals which my father gave me) was found bent and battered at the now defunct Antique Garage on 25th Street. They ripped the building down unfortunately—the only remaining remnant of a once thriving flea market. I hear that there is one over near the Lincoln Tunnel, but haven't ventured to it since my mind is on other things—and the frames I acquired before the garaged closed have yet to be hung. Speaking of which: I am actively working on a huge mirror for the mantel. Long time coming, I hope to have it up soon. 

Friday, February 3, 2017

Christmas 2016


Yes, I have things backwards, don't I? Writing about Christmas 2016 in the first week of February 2017. But hey, the county is backwards right now, right? Jokes (ha) aside, this past Christmas was noted for it's rather cheap decorations—if only because I spent $20 bucks on garland that come from Lowe's—a newish box store not two blocks from the apartment. The stuff was right on the sidewalk—two strands of which I cut in half and then assembled with gilt pine cones, dark green ornaments,  and purple and gold ornaments that I picked up after Christmas last year and completely forgot about. Green ribbon and fake news—I mean cranberry stems—completed the look. I think it took me 20 minutes to throw it all together. There. Done. No more. 


True, I did put up a small tree on a stand in front of a bookcase on Christmas Eve, but you're not going to see that here since I can't find a photo of it. The tree was the last remaining one standing in front of a Korean Deli, and went for 20 bucks. A steal in Gotham, where 4 foot trees go for 80 smackers, it was my very own art of the deal. Cheap! 


I sang my butt off at an Episcopal church down the street, and where the music has been top-notch all Fall—Britten's Ceremony of Carols being especially wonderful. Yes, those with sharp eyes will see black candles. They came in a box—also on discount—and I just went with it, not having used black candles before, the mourning of Democrats everywhere coming to mind rather than virgin birth. So, did Christmas receive a great deal of thought? No. It happened, like the election, as one great big surprise.  

Wednesday, February 1, 2017

Summer in Paris


Of the countless photos I snapped with my iPhone from last summer's trip to Paris, here are two that remain on my laptop. Our second trip to Paris, we again traded apartments—this time in the 14th arrondissement, right down the street from the catacombs.


I am already dreaming of escaping there this coming summer. Perhaps I won't come back! Now there's a thought: Circles recalling the end that is the beginning, and wings to give one flight.