Pssst...

I'm going to bed, rising at 4:45 am, on my way at 6.

Assuming the energy vortex doesn't interfere with the Internet, I'll try and report from Sedona.

Thanks for all the well wishes.

Love,

Katie

Favorite Painting

"The Birth of Venus," Sandro Botticelli, c. 1485-1486

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

I shoulda been a rock star...



I coulda been a sound engineer...



I woulda walked in on a guy robbing my apartment if, at the last minute, I hadn't decided to stop at the corner store before going home...

1 day to Sedona...

Much to do today. Will I be able to blog more? Will there be time? Will I blog from Sedona? Will I be able?

Stay tuned.

xoxoxo

Oscarvations

I can easily say that once upon a time, I was a movie buff. But for the last several months there’s been such a drama playing out in my life, I've had little need to search for entertainment in places outside my own head.

I didn't see many movies this year, but at the Homestead last night I did see about half of this year’s Academy Award show. Some of it was the same old Hollywood garbage, but some of it I was pleasantly surprised by.

So, whether you like it or not, here are this year’s “Oscarvations” from The Half Note...



“Babel” should have won for Best Editing.

Although I can't sit through any of his films (the violence thing), Martin Scorsese is a genius and long overdue for an Oscar, so I'm glad he won.

Although I think Helen Mirren is a brilliant actress, please see my review of "The Queen" to see why I do not think she should have won for Best Actress.

When I asked a friend if he had taken his son to see “Happy Feet,” his answer to me was, “I didn’t take him to that shit.”

That “Shit” was one of my favorite children’s movies ever. Great music, beautifully animated, intelligent and sweet with an underlying message of love. I was “Happy” it took the award.

Don’t ask me why, but I did see "Dreamgirls," and although it would have made a better Movie of the Week than a feature, Jennifer Hudson was so lovely and I'm glad she won. (I wish I’d seen her speech.)

I have a crush on Ryan Gosling.

I'm not an Eddie Murphy fan, so I’m not sure why I wanted him to win.

I liked Alan Arkin's acceptance speech; modest, and heartfelt.

"Little Miss Sunshine" won for Best Original Screenplay and I loved that movie.

The screenwriter of “Little Miss Sunshine” appeared humble and that was refreshing.

I find it a bit backwards that the rich and famous get stuff for free.

The Al Gore thing (with Leonardo DiCaprio) made me laugh.

When Ellen Degeneres asked Stephen Spielberg to take her picture with Clint Eastwood, I laughed.

When Ellen Degeneres asked Martin Scorsese to read her screenplay, I laughed.

I think Ellen Degeneres should host the Oscars every year. She adds humor and warmth, and somehow humanizes the whole thing.

I liked the Sound Effects Choir.

That’s all.

2 days to Sedona...

3 Days to Sedona...

Click here for information.

There's got to be a religious joke in here somewhere.

Anyone want to take a stab at it?

Shoulda, Coulda, Woulda

I shoulda been a jazz guitarist...




I coulda been an airbrush artist...





I woulda run away with Riki, the British busboy from India Joze, but he just wasn't my cup of tea.

The way things aren't

On Friday I thought I saw a migrating crab on the New Jersey Turnpike, but it was just a red plastic bag.

PRAISE!

I want to take a moment on this BEAUTIFUL Saturday moning to THANK GOD... for coffee.

Really.

I appreciate it.

'Round Midnight

"What do you MEAN I have no new messages in my mailbox?!"

It warms me

I phoned an old friend this morning, she saw my name on the caller i.d., picked up the phone and softly said, "Hi Pumpkin."

I love when my girlfriends call me sweet names like that, I just love it.

Favorite Painting

Couple au Dessus de St. Paul

Marc Chagall

Lingo love

Annie to her friend Giselle: "Don't you just LOVE talking?"

Checkered Past

My brother Michael has been many things in his life including a delivery truck driver, an actor, and a New York City cabbie. Christopher Walken once got into Mike's cab. "I'm going to 125th Street!" he announced, "And I'm not afraid of speed!" Michael, never missing a beat, replied by slamming his foot on the gas and getting Walken to Harlem in record time.

Many nights my fearless brother would find himself in neighborhoods no man should be in, where his customers would reach their destinations, say that their wallets were upstairs, then offer to leave their shoes in the backseat as collateral.

When I was living in the city for a stint in my early twenties, Mike would phone me in the middle of the night. "Hey Sis!" he'd say, "Come ridin' with your big brother!" I'd stumble out of bed, throw on some clothes and find him outside on 86th Street, sitting behind the wheel with a big smile on his face, honking the horn and holding up a cup of coffee for me.

Mike and I would drive through the belly of the city and we'd drive all through the night. We'd stop for more coffee and make each other laugh, sometimes so hard he'd have to pull over.

It was a brief moment in our history, a slice of our family life, and everyone we picked up along the way seemed perplexed or delighted, but always amused by the New York City Cabbie who made his rounds with his little sister in tow.

In Man's Hands

I used to go to a Buddhist Center in Chelsea for their weekly community meditation, but following the sessions everyone would push past each other to get to the food table. It happened week after week and it disturbed me.

Now I mediate at home.

A quote for the moment

“When we are tired, we are attacked by ideas we conquered long ago”

~Friedrich Nietzsche

Hair Today

This morning I had hair so long that it reached the middle of my back. I finally went for a trim and knew the stylist was right when she told me the ends were in bad shape. She said I could grow my hair as long as I liked, but if I also wanted it to be beautiful, we would first need to remove the ends and start again. She took off 3 inches, gave it a sexy swing and I left happy.

Part of me wanted to hold on to the length, ratty ends and all. It had become symbolic in a way, of a transformation from a self in which I was stuck, to a self that is becoming free. But it's still long, just healthier now, and able to grow even faster than before.

Thank You

To Reverend Shawn Ankenmann at Prairie Preacher for the most lovely comment on "The Half Note" I could ever hope to receive.

Click here to read.

A Whole Birthday for a Half Note!

What do you give a half note that has everything?


...A coat rack?



...A vacuum cleaner?



...A promotion?



A party?



Happy Birthday to "At the Half Note."

What a long, strange and wonderful year it's been.

Something Beautiful for Tuesday

In my dreams

I had a dream last night that a woman tried to sell me a pair of flannel pajama pants that played music in the dryer.

All Aboard

Rev. Shawn's new blog, Rolling Art

Forgive Me Father

Katie: "Do you think I offend my religious readers?"

Reverend Shawn: "I hope so."

Lovely Rita

When I was in Barcelona, my friends Guierrmo, Gloria and Jana took me to an old beautiful shop in the Gothic Quarter that sold religious artifacts. I wanted to find a statue of a patron saint, but it couldn't be just any old patron saint, it had to be the right one. In my mediocre Spanish I asked the woman at the counter to rattle off some saints for me and what they represented.

There were patron saints against shipwrecks, slander, slavery, and sexual temptation (No thank you, not that one). There were saints that protected us from twitching, typhoid, vanity and vertigo, and upon further research I discovered there are even saints for chicken farmers, fiddlers and forgotten causes.

But what saint would I return home with that would sit upon my desk and look at me in my time of need?

Just then the woman behind the counter said, "Rita La Abogada de Imposibles," to which I replied, "Para!" (Stop!) That's it!
Saint Rita of Cascia, Patron Saint... of the Impossible.

And now, during a time in my life when so much feels impossible, I look to Rita who looks back at me and whispers, "It's possible Katie, it's all possible."

Blue Heron

The way things aren't

Last night I thought I saw a burning flame in the dishrack, but it was just the blue plastic ice cube tray sitting behind the glass water pitcher on the kitchen counter.

Quote

"Your dream ran aground, your life didn't change. Find a new dream."

~Reverend Shawn Ankenmann

Ugly Truths

Sometimes I wake in the middle of the night with uncontrollable hiccups.

Sometimes I wake in the morning with my teeth clenched so tightly that I have a raging headache.

I will not hesitate to spend $25 on a good candle.

When I have something really good in my life, I have to work at not fearing it will go away.

Sometimes I have to leave a store because they are playing really bad music. I don't make a fuss, I just stop shopping, pay for the things I already have, and I go.

I would rather have all my wisdom teeth pulled than spend a day at Disney World.

Sometimes when I'm at a movie theatre, I must excuse myself for a couple of minutes and go and have a conversation with the projectionist about how to improve the quality of the sound.

Caffeine Conversations

Having a cup Sunday morning while on the phone with my friend Elisa from L.A.

Elisa: "Katie! Can I just say that I'm outside my apartment building and I'm looking up at my balcony and the flowers I've planted are SO beautiful! The lavender is just SO beautiful!"

Me: "And can I just say that I bought a bunch of Hyacinth the other day and right now my apartment is FLOODED with the smell of Hyacinth, and when I walk into the apartment the scent just washes over me and puts me in the BEST mood!"

Elisa: "And can I just say that I'm walking up the street right now and it is such a BEAUTIFUL DAY!"

There ain't nothing...

... like the smell of fresh basil in my apartment.

Nothing.

Goodnight

Apartment Keys

For several months there was a vacant apartment on the first floor of my building. The door remained open so potential renters could have a look, and one day I peaked inside. It was dark and lacked charm, not at all like my pretty little place just two flights up. No birds, no trees, not an ounce of sun to light the barren floors.

Day after day as I came and went, I passed the vacant apartment and I could swear I heard the silence from behind its sad door. I wondered who would occupy the lonely space, and would it happen before spring.

Then one day, just two weeks ago, I heard sound coming from the apartment. Not the sound of construction and not the sound of silence, but the sound of jazz. And it wasn’t jazz on the radio or jazz in stereo, it was jazz being played on piano by human hands.

And every day since that day, and all through the night, the man who now occupies the once empty apartment plays and plays and plays that piano, and only stops, I imagine, when he is forced to eat or bathe or fall asleep, like a heap on the once barren floor.

Paternal Poetry

My father and mother were once discussing their three kids. My father said this about us:

Mike is fireworks, a tornado.
Katie is balloons, a heat wave.
Danny is a public address system, a bed of glowing coals.

The way things aren't

I was walking up the street yesterday and thought I saw a grey cat through a storefront window. It was just the reflection of my shoe.

Shine

Did I forget to mention...

That Annie posted her version the other day?