Wednesday, June 30, 2010

After a couple weeks in the sauna that is summer in Philadelphia, I walked out this morning to bliss: blue skies, 70 degrees and no humidity to speak of (and believe me, around here we speak of the humidity often … in not the most pleasant of terms).
    I tend not to read or watch the weather forecast, so I had no idea this beautiful day was on its way, and I have no idea how long this gift will be with us.
    I’m heading out.

Monday, June 28, 2010

A favorite summer sight: 
Evening, backyard, lightning bugs rising like bubbles in a champagne glass.

Monday, June 21, 2010

I’d be the first to admit I’m a procrastinator. (Well, I would, but since I procrastinate, I probably should take that back.)
        Today, at long last, I stowed the snow shovels in the garage, where they will hibernate until the next time they're needed.
    Those shovels got quite a workout last winter. I let them rest on the front porch for most of the spring, but recently moved them to the front of our barn of a garage. There they stood, catching rays, until today.
    I must admit it was high time to finish the job: At 7:28 a.m. today, summer officially arrived. 

     Stay cool.


Driving along on Father's Day, I caught the credits for "Weekend Edition Sunday" on 91-FM, my local public radio station. (Give today!)
    Instead of the usual rundown of producers, editors, etc., I heard this, with the voice changing at each new name:
    "This is NPR's Weekend Edition ... directed by Robert Wharton's son Ned, and produced by ... Jim Kenin's daughter Justine, ... Dave Breslow's son Peter ... Kimberly Adams, daughter of Albert Adams Jr. ..." On the list went, 19 names in all, ending with the host saying, "And I'm Edwin S. Hansen's daughter, Liane."
    I teared up, listening; in those various voices you could hear affection, pride, humor, love.
    Later that day I got to be with my dad at a wonderful dinner, cooked by my mom in the house where I grew up.
    I know how lucky that makes me.
    Today, I'll sign off as Joe Slobodzian's fourth (and final) kid, Cathy.

Saturday, June 5, 2010

Tuesday, June 1, 2010

It’s a wonderful thing, the more you look for joy, the more you find it … sometimes literally. A dear friend, artist and inspiration was one of the first people I told about this blog project. A couple of days later, during one of our regular walks through the neighborhood, she showed me a piece of paper that had fluttered to the floor in her home. It read simply: “pure joy.” She had no idea where it came from, but she thought I should have it. I keep it by my computer as a reminder. Thank you.

Then tonight, my 97-year-old dance teacher (yes, you read that right), used joy as the theme for our improvisation. After we stretched out on the floor, she told us to think of something that had troubled us during the week, and then to let it go. Next, she said, think of something good that had happened, and hold onto that. Now move, she said, with joy – and gratitude. She turned up the music and let us loose.

What a beautiful way to end the day.