We’re making more room for celebrating. There’s enough going on in the world that needs little reminding of how cruel it can be. So we’re having moments to toast to good times, blow out candles, dance here and there, and laugh. Laugh so hard that …
During a recent visit to New York City, we stayed at the 122-year old Algonquin Hotel. We’ve stayed at the hotel once before, however, this time, the hotel revealed its historical past through the Blue Bar menu and a chance meeting with Hamlet, the cat.
As we sat at one of the tables in the Blue Bar, I imagined how this place must have been in years gone by. It apparently was the spot where artists , writers, musicians and other creative people hung out. I felt comfortable writing, thinking and sipping on a drink which had been conjured-up over a century ago.
As I walked out of the elevator, I bumped into the current Hamlet as he walked around his splendid residence. He was accompanied by his caretaker who introduced us and shared his interesting history. What a delight!
Cheers to The Algonquin! Cheers to your lively and colorful past. And cheers to Hamlet the Cat who is the 12th generation of the Expert-in-residence!
I am not an optimist. When I tell folks that, they rarely believe me. Surely, you jest. But, but, but you’re so happy… I’ve always armored myself with a fair amount of pragmatism and pessimism, steeling myself as much as one can for the other …
“Nature, time, and patience are three great physicians.” – Henry George Bohn On a recent evening, I had the pleasure of going to the Atlanta Botanical Gardens. I always forget what makes me come back, time and time again. I have been a member for …
When I was a kid, there was no shortage of new Easter dresses, patent leather Mary Janes with short white socks, and frilly bonnets to mark the holiday. Think pastel pink, yellow, and green linen with delicately embroidered details.
Oh, and there were Easter speeches, the products of hours of memorizing and practicing, that we recited nervously in front of the entire congregation. Improbably, it always seemed like there were a million pairs of eyes on us as we recited the special words slowly as we got our bearings, then quickly to avoid forgetting, and finally a mishmash until that moment of relief when we finished. Thank goodness I hadn’t forgotten!
Invariably, some kids did. As you sat sweating in the pews until it was your turn, you wondered why we did it. In retrospect, I’m convinced that in addition to celebrating the holiday, we were being elevated: a bunch of Black children in their finery standing both sheepishly and proudly in the spotlight reciting poetry and prose. If we could do that, what couldn’t we do?
There were giant baskets laden with solid (great) or hollow (disappointing) chocolate bunnies, marshmallowy peeps, art supplies, stuffed animals, and piles of candy. Over the years, these treats went from resting on a bed of plastic to paper grass. The Easter Bunny went green like the rest of us.
As the Reverend’s first grandchild, Easter meant dyeing hundreds of eggs with my Grandmama. Even though there were mounds, that didn’t stop me from slapping on those tiny stickers or drawing squiggles with waxy crayons.
Searching for those eggs was never my thing. Eating them, however, was.
Happy Easter!
Extra, eggstra!
It turns out that this year’s color is peach fuzz. We at ODB have always liked this range of colors- peach, salmon, rose, blush… You can see it throughout our website. Unlike oranges, peaches come in a rainbow of flavors. What’s your favorite? Everything’s been …
Each visit to New York has always included popping into a sweet shop for a little bit of chocolate, pastry or cookie. So much so that I’ve contemplated writing a little black book on sweets alone in NYC. Some desserts trend so much that there …
Last spring, I was honored to be an artist in residence in the Pullman neighborhood in our beautiful city of Chicago. I initially had made plans to map the many blocks around my space as I considered the ravages of the built environment in the Midwest with a longstanding project on “Utopia/Dystopia.”
Pullman is a historic labor epicenter and the weight of its history was not lost on me. On my very first day in the residency’s lovely rooms, I shifted my focus from utopian concepts to the idea of leisure. What is the significance of leisure for some of us? Every program I lead in my administrator’s life is outward-facing, and now I was inviting myself to look in.
Light streaming in with bits of dust floating in the waves, I sat and read. I rested. I wrote. I made art.
And I sang. I filled the room with my voice, sometimes wobbly, oftentimes stretched, and always joyful. I sang the words on the page of my books, sang while I painted, and sang as I danced. It was beautiful.
At moments, I found myself where we all do: knowing what we want but incapable of grasping it. I knew how a particular song went but sometimes my voice failed me. I would follow Stevie’s voice until I climbed out of my range; it was like running after someone as they sprinted farther out of reach. When my voice hit a false note, I grimaced… or laughed. Ahhhh!
Elusive.
As I constructed offerings/pieces out of blank to-do lists, I sang, recognizing that writing it down doesn’t necessarily make it so. A bitter truth for someone who has written a list every day since learning how to write.
I was reminded recently of this period in my life as I looked at a work, “Spell to Acquire a Beautiful Voice” in the Metropolitan Museum of Art’s exhibition, “Africa & Byzantium.” This work is a 6th-7th century Coptic spell on papyrus and a part of Yale’s Beinecke Library on loan to the show that closed yesterday.
I found it captivating.
The Beinecke Library describes it: “This papyrus records two different spells. The upper text is a spell to obtain a beautiful singing voice. The petitioner is instructed to prepare special ink so as to inscribe a chalice with powerful signs. Next, the petitioner is told to procure a divination bowl and an offering, and recite a prayer to “Harmozel, the great ruler.” The conclusion of the prayer invokes the power of the Holy Trinity: “Yea, yea, for I adjure you by the left hand of the Father, I adjure you by the head of the Son, I adjure you by the hair of the Holy Spirit.” Harmozel is depicted as a winged angel; his trumpet emits strings of Coptic letters as he blows.”
What a thought! A beautiful voice is made manifest by concocting an ink, inscribing signs on a vessel, placing an offering, reciting a spell (in song?) as a prayer to the Holy Trinity, all in service to what? Beauty? Enchantment? Encantation? Love? I don’t know but I like thinking about it.
Ăn Quả Nhớ Kẻ Trồng Cây (When eating a fruit, think of the person who planted the tree) a Vietnamese proverb Seeds of curiosity were vigorously planted by my parents. While their curiosities often take different forms, I grew up in a home filled with …
