Friday, February 29, 2008

Uh oh

My computer just informed me that unexpectedly, there is no audio coming into my system.

Worth it

In real time

Waiting on the director, cutting today. It's 18 degrees, glad to be back on coffee, like returning home to an old, familiar friend.

Safe travels

David, have fun in Mexico!

Melt down

Annie: "Mom! Has that candle been through both world wars?"

Confession #879,004

When I log on to my email account, it's not the advertisements that bother me, it's having to see a picture of the same person day after day, month after month, year after year. She seems like a nice enough girl, and she hasn't done anything to deserve it, but I'm starting to hate the sight of her.

Thursday, February 28, 2008

Sitting at the sidebar

Francis Dunnery does. And so do I.



When we need to heal something within ourselves, we unconsciously put ourselves, over and over again into those very situations which present us with what we do not wish to face. How we deal with this apparent 'bad fate' depends upon our capacity to look inward.

~Liz Greene, The Astrological Neptune and the Quest for Redemption

Just like a movie

Annie jumps into the backseat of the car.

"Ouch!" she says, "It felt like I sat on a champagne glass, just like William Holden in Sabrina!"

Wednesday, February 27, 2008

Boys & girls

Annie: "Do you think I have attitude?"

Me: "Yes."

Annie: "I mean a bad attitude."

Me: "Sometimes."

Annie: "I mean in general."

Me: "No, in general I would say you have a very good attitude."

Long pause.

Annie: "I slap boys."

Me: "Don't do that."

Annie: "But they like it. I slapped Nelson, Ricky, Julio Carlos and Marcel. Marcel gave me Japanese candy, but that was before I slapped him."

In real time

I clean, Annie works, puppy plays, and Bach too.

Tuesday, February 26, 2008

Sitting at the sidebar

My Heart is Like the Sun by Bruce Abrams. Gary Regina plays sax & whistle.

In real time


Honey on my shirt

Unsolicited advice from me

When you're feeling less than yourself, get on the 'A' train around 8:30 PM., exit at 59th Street and go have a swim at the YMCA. Swim and swim and swim until you can't swim anymore, then go another lap. Have yourself a steam bath and sweat the man who's hurt you one too many times right out of your body, then sweat him no more. Take a long shower, wash your long hair, get dressed slowly. Say goodnight to the woman at the front desk and when you exit onto the street, decide that instead of going home, you’ll walk twenty-three blocks up Broadway to see your mom. Stop and get a cappuccino to go (decaffeinated, it’s almost eleven after all), then continue north, toss out your empty cup at 79th Street, then as you approach your mom’s place on 86th, notice how fast you move. Notice the weight of your backpack, the way your braid, wet from the shower feels cold and heavy against your neck, and how your bright red sneakers peering out from blue jeans hit the ground. As you turn the corner enjoy the moment you feel 16 again, and because you do, you start to run. You run through the black iron gates of the building where your father lived and where you first kissed the man you’d marry. You wave at the doormen who are waving at you, then bolt across the courtyard, past the fountain, through the glass doors and up the stairs. You turn the key and call, “Mom!” You’re bursting as you fly into her room where she’s in her pajamas and in her bed. You take off your sneakers, toss down your backpack, you are your mother’s child and she smiles and shouts, “You look like a kid!

Then notice how it feels to be 44 and 16 at the same time, tell your mother what hurts and listen to her wisdom. After a while let her close her eyes while you go into the kitchen and make yourself a slice of whole grain toast with apricot jam. Then write it all down, shut off the computer, climb into bed and, feeling more like yourself than you did before, fall asleep next to your mom.

I mean, if you're me.

Monday, February 25, 2008


Last month an astrologer strongly advised me to stay away from powerful and manipulative men. I didn't know who he could have been talking about, there was certainly no one in my life that fit that description. But last night I realized there was, and for months he'd been standing as close as my front door.

Sunday, February 24, 2008

A woman with wings

My past, my present, my heart, my hurt, my imperfections, my anger and my mistakes. My God, that woman I've dreamed of is me, and tonight she can finally fly.

Sitting at the sidebar

Ever heard Dolly Parton sing Stairway to Heaven?

You should.

Just like a movie

I've been so completely entertained by the stories that played out in my own life this past year, who needed to go to the movies?

Out of all the Academy Award nominated films, I only saw 2. Enchanted, which I loved, and Juno, which it seems everyone on the planet loved, but me. (click here for my review) Although I may be wrong, it seemed that most of the stuff out of Hollywood was dark, and frankly, these days, I'm just interested in turning the lights back on.

But I will watch the show tonight on Dave's high-def-wide screen, and be sure to have a good book to read every time Jon Stewart leaves the stage.

Thinking things

My friend Bruce thinks one of the worst things that can happen to a person is fame.

Dad TV.

David, Annie and I sat down to watch a DVD, and there was a game show on TV called, My Dad is Better Than Your Dad.

David: "They should have a show called, My Dad is More Neurotic Than Your Dad."

Annie: "I'd definitely win that one."

Friday, February 22, 2008

Sitting at the sidebar

I'm dedicating one of my favorite songs tonight, but I won't say for who.

He'll know.


When I look into a man's eyes, I can't help but see the little boy he once was. And every time I do, it breaks my heart.

In real time

Spending the day home with Annie and Honey, cooking meals, watching movies, and playing in the heaps of snow we were surprised to find upon waking this morning.

Thursday, February 21, 2008


Last night the moon looked like a three dimensional mobile hanging right over New York City.

Sitting at the sidebar

Just because.

Fact #98,9763

If I'm with a man who doesn't respond to satire, I will quickly grow bored.

Her words

Annie: "Mom, you are not a simple person."

Making plans

Katie: "I've figured out how Annie can have what she wants, I can have what I want and..."

David: "... and I can just suffer along as usual."

React naturally

Last night I did a bit of self-observation and noticed that in many ways I am like an animal. I'm hopelessly true to my nature, and although armed with knowledge and conscious thought, it does little to serve me when I begin to feel. It's almost as if I'm at the mercy of myself, and though I wish I could just pull the emergency brake, I suppose the best I can do is keep one eye open and watch my step.

In real time

Awake at 4:30, fought it 'till 5, crack open a window, light a candle, the tea kettle blows.

Wednesday, February 20, 2008

Sitting at the sidebar

Here it comes.


"Is it so wrong, wanting to be home with your record collection?"

~Nick Hornby, from High Fidelity

The Half Note turns 2

For serving as a mirror, an outlet and a friend, for allowing me to reveal and hide, retreat and return, and for enabling me to be as sexy, silly and stupid as I want to be.

Happy birthday to The Half Note, with gratitude and love, I thank you.

Tuesday, February 19, 2008

Journal entry

March 1999

Dear Annie,

Tonight as you lay asleep in your crib, I am missing you. It's a familiar feeling, the feeling that I can never have you enough. Like loving a great piece of art or a perfect jazz song, I am moved in a way that makes me want to fly--but I can’t. And because my love makes me want to fly but I can’t, I am forced to slow down, come down, push aside something too big to fit in my brain and body.

But my heart, it expands every day that you are with me. It can burst, shine and breathe, and hold you at the same time. It can carry all the love I have for you from before I knew myself and forward a thousand years. And yes, with you perched safely on its wings, it can fly.

What is it about 4:00 am?

And why am I awake?

Monday, February 18, 2008

In real time

A rainy afternoon, Annie and a friend watch a movie in my room, I work beside a sleeping puppy in a basket.

Sitting at the sidebar

If you're a reader of The Half Note, press play at the sidebar.

Morning meal

Annie: "Thanks for making us breakfast, Mom. Well, you didn't actually make us breakfast."

Me: "What do you mean?"

Annie: "I mean, if you made us breakfast, that would make you a cannibal."

Dear God,

Didn't you get my letter?

Recommended rental

Across the Universe.

And if you can, watch it on one of those wide screen HD sets.

I love this movie.

She blogs

Click here.

Sunday, February 17, 2008

Saturday, February 16, 2008

Sitting at the sidebar...

...and listening to at the moment.

Keith Jarrett, Flying Part 1.

Evolving 101

All my life I've handed out gold stars to everyone but me, and tonight I give myself the biggest one. Congratulations Katie, for not spending your days in a career you hate, or immersing yourself in idle gossip, or believing there's a politician who doesn't lie. For being brave enough to leave a man you love, smart enough to know that every disaster since has been a lesson in disguise, and for killing a belief that was keeping you from being that woman, who tonight seems closer than ever.

I don't want to change, I want to understand who I am then customize my world. I don't want to be better, I want to be open. I don't want to be nicer, I want connectedness to become my natural state of being, and I don't want to be prettier, I just want to be so fulfilled that it's impossible to keep the smile off my face.

Friday, February 15, 2008

In real time

Editing from home while Honey sleeps on my lap or my chest or, in the middle of play, simply passes out on the floor.

Seeing things

As we drove past Riverside Park Annie said, "I just saw a huge tree that was completely bare except for one red leaf! That would be good for your blog!"

Sitting at the stoplight

"Look at that!" my mother said. "That would be a great picture!"

I had my camera in the car, so before I could see what she was referring to, I pulled it out.

"All the windows in that building are boarded shut, but there's one that's open. See how the pigeon sits in the only open window. It's like his own little apartment."