TheRealTamara

Quiet, please

«Can’t hear myself think« is a trite shout-out you yell at your kids as they chase around your dining table. Clichés start at the kernel of truth, in this case that noise can be disturbing.

It can also be disrespectful, as our friend Dr. Arline Bronzhaft tells us. Read her plea for a respectful quiet, here.

A little gift

My Starbucks addiction has to do with the app and rewards. Now that the new CEO has cut back the company give-backs, I am weaning myself.

For a while, I accepted every challenge [and met most].

Let’s face it, my (bought) loyalty garnered me 100 points here and there. In real life, that’s the occasional free iced coffee.

To get the full bang for my buck, I always ordered the Trenta.

That’s a lot of coffee, and a lot more than doctor- recommended.

As a once staunch critic of the brand, I should have eschewed these prizes. As a gamer, I had to play.

No offers.

Oh, good. I can get a cup I might actually enjoy elsewhere.

I am missing out on the points that come automatically from each purchase. A pass, I am willing to make.

In the pod

Huddling with podcasts has become a source of comfort for me. I spend a part of my respite time under earphones and tuned to one of these specific three.

At the moment, that rotation is led by Julia Louis Dreyfus. I am caught up on Wiser than Me, which gladdens me (I have been enriched), and I can’t wait for Wednesday.

Anderson Cooper offers wisdom on grieving; perversely, I find tremendous uplift in listening to All There Is with…. I am far from done with the seasons of this series.

Somehow, Brooke Shields snuck on to my listening cycle. On Now What? she interviews people who have dealt with moments of transition. (Who hasn’t?) These shared pivotal moments are enlightening.

I found myself listening to one of the most distinctive voices the other day. [Bebe Neuwirth has a special timbre when she speaks.]

I appreciate her work as a dancer and actress, but I love her for a moment at a Broadway Cares event some 4 years ago.

The audience was instructed “cell phones off.” A routine command in the theater. Within minutes, a phone went off.

Ms. Neuwirth rose to the occasion in righteous outrage admonishing the offender.

I hate hearing ringing during a performance, don’t you?

Apparently, she and I are in sync on this one.

For love of country

Patriotism is something that Conservatives “owned” or thought they did. Then along came the crazies in the GOP. Matt Gaetz (not unlike his boss) is a destroyer. The only pledge of allegiance he’ll have to sign is to (ugh) the president elect.

Patriotism runs deep in all Americans who understand the values that are fundamental to the United States of America.

It’s love of country, not fealty to a would be strong man. We, the people, are not bossed by our leaders. We choose them to serve us.

Fight fire

For those traumatized by the blazing forestland in New Jersey and California, the appeal of flames rising is probably gone.

Fire can also be a metaphor. Fire in the belly signifies ambition and the Doors sang of stoking desire.

There is passing the torch, a tradition exemplified in Paris this summer. Fire also captures the idea in getting burned [or its alter ego, not].

Fires give heat and light. The campfire is benign and contained and well-loved. Fires can rage, giving birth to an angry modality.

Pastel crayons are waxy. I also used red pencil for definition and outline.

Our art therapy/connection group used it as a metaphor symbolic of what moves and inspires us.

Mine kind of, you know, “wrote itself.”

A collage occupied me while we did our introductions. I was multitasking.

Thank you

We are thanked for voting.

Voting is our privilege, a right that comes with democracy. We should treasure it. No thanks necessary.

The video artist I passed in front of our local school[slash]polling place seemed to share that p.o.v.

“In Argentina,” I think I heard her say, “You have to vote.”

Apparently, it’s beyond your right so that it’s illegal not to cast a ballot.

Hmm.

Run run run

It’s not like I’m crazy for the big footrace that is the NYC Marathon as it has disrupted my 1st Sunday in November for about 50 years.

Let me explain.

I moved to the other side of the race’s course in 1974. On the day of the Marathon, I am confined to staying east of its long, long path. That confinement lasts from appx 10 am until 4 or 5 pm.

The closest to normal for me is to walk along the east side of 1st Av, avoiding crowds. I can walk past the 59th Street Bridge and start across town there.

Busses did not run down York for many a year; perhaps because their terminus is at 91st and 1st. I am not sure why I was able to get one once; call it a fluke.

This year, I watched the festive firework display as runners gather in the Park. My perch was my window overlooking rooftops and clear to the site.

I also captured the smoke as the show ended.