I am very excited to be taking my first trip to Martha’s Vineyard this weekend. We didn’t go anyplace like that when I was growing up because, well, (gross overgeneralization alert!) we weren’t rich, but I’ve always been interested in going. I’m singing a wedding on Saturday but otherwise have the whole weekend to enjoy the island. Here’s the forecast:
Now doesn’t that scream “island getaway”??
I’m still thinking about the play I saw at the Huntington Theater Company this week, Good People. Everyone I’ve talked to who saw it speaks as highly of it as I do. So Boston folks, go see it!
Today is the memorial of St Wenceslaus. I had every intention of calling my mother this morning to wish her a happy St Wenceslaus day, as he is the subject of her favorite Christmas carol. Did you know Wenceslaus was a Bohemian nobleman who was assassinated at his brother’s orders? True fact. And always remember: Therefore, Christian men, be sure, wealth or rank possessing, Ye who now will bless the poor, shall yourselves find blessing.
I just borrowed a book from a colleague that has been loaned to me before: The Color of Water by James McBride. My sense is with the forecast this weekend I might spend some time inside. Hopefully I won’t be too inactive, but I’m sure there will be time to read, if only on the ferry. Anybody read The Color of Water? Thoughts?
The skepticism over Senate candidate Elizabeth Warren’s claims of Cherokee ancestry has reached a fever pitch among the faithful few who are into that sort of thing. The scandal du jour is that some of her opponent’s staff and supporters were caught on video making “war whoops” in an attempt to mock her at an event.
Take a moment to let that sink in. “War whoops”. Seriously, people, you can’t do that.
Last night was one of those crummy nights when you wake in the wee small hours and agonize. I wrote about that at length a year and a half ago, and I learned last night I haven’t outgrown it (in truth, I don’t ever plan to). Read the whole post here, or enjoy the excerpt below.
In addition to the numerous physiological benefits of sleep, I wonder if we are also wired to sleep at night for a mental reason: the wee small hours are when the crazy comes out. I’m ok with questions. I ask a lot of them, I don’t mind answering them, and I’m willing to live with them. They’re easier to deal with in the daylight than in the dark of night, when the street lamp that shines in my window doesn’t cast enough light to reveal any answers.
Am I on a good path? Are there changes I should be embracing that I fear? Can I live with vulnerability? Are there mistakes in my past that I don’t even know are mistakes yet, but that I will pay for later? Do I believe the things I want to believe? Is there a difference between believing and wanting to believe? How much of my life has been about choosing the good and how much has been about avoiding the fear, that same fear that finds me at five in the morning anyway?
On that melodramatic note, friends, adieu! Have a great weekend!
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