Monday, April 21, 2014


The neighborhood has a little dog.  

Peaches as I've come to call her, obviously has a sad history.  Everything, sometimes nothing, scares her.  She startles, she runs, she doesn't trust.  I know she wants to . . .

Time and patience can be powerful tools and I've got a lot of both.  In just a week, Peaches has warmed a bit, wanting company and communicating her basic needs; nose up in the air and faint whimpers when she's hungry, peering through the door if I'm inside, learning I might come out and sit with her.  

She's owning the neighborhood.  None of us own her.  

Four houses look after the precious little mutt, her sibling dumped in our cul-de-sac at the same time but since disappeared.  She roams the half circle, half lost among several cats to play with and squirrels to chase.  She's begun running round-and-round-and-round this tree, lightning fast, it seems just for the fun of it.

I cook her an egg every day for lunch, two if I think she missed breakfast elsewhere.  She spends the afternoons sunning herself on concrete or grass, awakened from her short, restless naps any time the blue jays bathe or a car horn honks or I shift in my chair.  Peaches heads across the street around five o'clock, to get in on scraps from the family who eats hours before we do.  I heard she turned down chicken-fried-steak.  I admit, that made me smile.

The past couple days have held a ray of promise for Peaches will nap at my feet, her back turned away from me even, and today she took several pieces of cheese from me, long slices dangling, promising safety from my hand, the hand which wants only to pet her precious little head and assure her everything will be alright.  

Sunday, April 20, 2014

Monday, April 7, 2014

rites of passage

It can be a dreaded moment my father explained to me, if a General Manager walks to the center stage of any opera house to address its patrons in person.  Odds are no one has died as they will in the coming acts waiting to play out on the stage, but someone, likely the main soprano or tenor, has become ill and a replacement is being announced.

On the other hand, it's an exhilarating moment few people ever get to witness if applause and ovation are so very great that the conductor directs a number to be repeated.  During his many decades with opera, my dad saw this happen just twice.  The first was live, in Atlanta, during the duet performance in act one of La Boheme starring Franco Corelli and Renata Tebaldi.  The second was in a 2002 telecast of Nabucco, James Levine conducting and directing the chorus.  I know for a fact my father cried during the latter.  I'd bet money he did in the Fox Theater too. 

In my brief history with opera, I've watched shows with last minute cast changes so it was not a surprise when, at last Saturday's live broadcast from the Met, Peter Gelb came forward to deliver the news; Anita Hartig had the flu and Kristine Opolais was graciously taking her place.  Okay I thought, having learned by now that the show really does go on and usually magnificently.  

And this one did. . .

The soprano Opolais had, the night before, made her debut as Cio-Cio San in Madama Butterfly on the Met stage and it's reported that following a dinner celebration she woke to the phone call requesting her to sing another staring role, one she hadn't sung in a full year, at that afternoon's one o'clock matinee.  With less than three hours of sleep Opolais accomplished what no other soprano has in the history of the Metropolitan Opera; she sang as Mimi in La Boheme, her second debut of two leading roles in back to back performances less than eighteen hours apart.

It was a beautiful, historic performance and though I didn't see it live at the Met, it feels as if I entered another world of opera that afternoon; my dad's world.  I now have a story, a rich opera tale of my own.  

I only wish I could share it with him.

Thursday, March 20, 2014


My gosh, 
why does grass seem greener elsewhere
this start of spring,
as cheery yellow daffodils fight weeds 
to emerge from their winter beds,
when I'm blooming too, 
roots planted

Saturday, March 1, 2014

blue light

After a great evening, there is something oddly intimate about closing the bar down with your friends.  

A public space turns private.  

After hours truths are shared. 

Shots are offered by the house and though the trio has packed up, someone may head back on stage with a lone guitar.  

I hadn't had a night like this in a while.  

It was lovely.

The Kitchen Cafe, Preston Road, Dallas

Friday, February 14, 2014

my valentine, i love him so

humble - perceptive - shy - honest - curious - veteran - gentle 
private - loving - savvy - masculine - accepting - funny - laidback soulful - protective - gracious - hopeful - thankful - rich - doting predictable - confident - lighthearted - extraordinary - brave 
organized - respectful - sexy - optimistic - introverted - dignified 
spontaneous - calm - patriotic - resolute - handsome - patient
courteous - attentive - free - methodical - positive - bold - content
interesting - sweet - raw - caring - generous - smart - timid 
steadfast - unpredictable - happy - worthy - measured - quiet - loyal
wise - frank - romantic - fun - secure - daring - bashful - prepared
grateful - strong - witty - giving - dedicated - secretive - polite
tender - disciplined - kind - reserved - intuitive - willing - loner 

Friday, January 31, 2014

open books

Are we not
like open books,
wearing hearts on our sleeves,
visible and endearing as dog-eared pages,                 
yet knowing the best we offer,
the juiciest parts of us,
will be found only by those wanting,
daring enough,
to read between the lines?