Freedom

I know why the caged bird sings 

A free bird leaps on the back
Of the wind and floats downstream
Till the current ends and dips his wing
In the orange suns rays
And dares to claim the sky.

But a BIRD that stalks down his narrow cage
Can seldom see through his bars of rage
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
Of things unknown but longed for still
And his tune is heard on the distant hill for
The caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
And the trade winds soft through
The sighing trees
And the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright
Lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged BIRD stands on the grave of dreams
His shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
His wings are clipped and his feet are tied
So he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with
A fearful trill of things unknown
But longed for still and his
Tune is heard on the distant hill
For the caged bird sings of freedom. 

 Maya Angelou

Raw

I've been experimenting in the kitchen with raw food recipes.  Today I made zucchini "pasta" with tomato sauce and curry carrot soup.  The latter is a keeper, the former needs a little more retooling.  After sampling several desserts from Cafe Gratitude last week I'm eager to recreate the coconut chocolate pie I devoured and the creamy chocolate and vanilla puddings.  Pure bliss, especially since I'm used to paying a heavy price for eating sweets.  Sugar and dairy throw my body into a tailspin so to be able to indulge without feeling headachy, dizzy or bloated is a gift from the gods.  Tomorrow, if my garbanzo beans have sprouted, I'm going to whip up a batch of raw hummus.  YUM.

Night Musings

Sometimes my sleep is so deep external stirrings go unnoticed by my unconscious mind.  Other times, like tonight, the slight ping of rain on my windows caused me to wake at 3am.  Granted it's May in Los Angeles, and an unusual time for gray skies and the sound of precipitation.  I try to roll over, go back to my dreams, but I'm awake.  Night table light is on, computer open.  I begin to surf.  The internet is buzzing about the identity of the woman Schwarzenegger had a child with over ten years ago.  I love men, I really do, but I don't comprehend why so many cheat and lie.   Why can't more men be like George Clooney and admit they don't believe in the confines of marriage.  Enjoy long term monogamous relationships or date several girls simultaneously, no one will care if you are honest about your behavior.  Perhaps it takes too much courage to break from a certain traditional image especially when one is one the public eye.  In this case, the beautiful wife hailed from political royalty legitimized his quest.  Photos of them standing arm and arm surrounded by their attractive offspring sold the image Americans seemingly wanted to buy.  These successive scandals make me question what is really going on behind the idealized photograph, and the optimistic realist in me is growing more cynical.  Testimonials about Schwarzenegger's philandering conduct have circulated for years, especially during his campaign.  The press was spun, the tainted image was photoshopped, and the majority of Americans believed the restored image sweeping any doubts about his character under the carpet.  The most tragic figure of all, is the deceived wife.  Maria stood by this version of the truth, and only when her husband was through with his office were the facts revealed.  She ignored the red flags, easy to do I can attest, and for this she will suffer.  My tired brain is distracted by the howling coyotes.  Their loud, penetrating wail echoes in the canyon.  If I turn off my computer now I can still sleep for a few hours before dawn lights the sky outside my windows.

Birthday

I have heard the story a million times, two weeks before my mother's due date, around dinner time on a Thursday, she started to have contractions.  My mother always attributed my early arrival to the bumpy, mystery tour bus ride, taken days before with friends, to the World's Fair in New York City.  The doctor was unfazed by my parents call, and told them to take their time getting to the hospital.  Being my mother's third pregnancy she felt a little more urgency.  "You were almost born on Route 27 and your doctor almost missed your delivery because he wanted to finish his pork chops."  Pork chops and apple sauce have always reminded me of the day I was born.  My father desperately wanted to be in the hospital room with my mother.  He pleaded and begged, but was relegated to the waiting room of pacing fathers.  I was born at 7:11pm, a mere hour after my parents left their house.  "You're my lucky baby," my mother has told me over the years.  As a child, I had a strong affinity for the convenience store in my neighborhood with the same name.  The yard was full of blooming peonies when I arrived home two days later and met my sister and brother for the first time.  My mother baked them cupcakes so they wouldn't feel left out.   Growing up my birthday was always celebrated with vases of light pink and fuchsia peonies cut from the plants my grandfather tended.  To this day, they are still my favorite flower.

This Moment

A Friday ritual. A single photo - no words - capturing a moment from the week.  If you're inspired to do the same, leave a link to your 'moment' in the comments for all to find and share.

Drama

I'm steeped in drama, fictional drama, the best kind, since I prefer for my "real" life to be as simple and uncomplicated as possible.  Saw GOD OF CARNAGE this past weekend at the Ahmanson Theater downtown.  Loved Yasmina Reza's play about two couples in Brooklyn who meet to discuss the play ground altercation that took place between their eleven year old sons.  The original Broadway cast, James Gandolfini, Marcia Gay Harden, Hope Davis, and Jeff Daniels, was in top form as they performed this absurdly funny and yet moving material.  A well of creativity has been taped inside of me.  I've been spending many hours features, pilots and plays, sifting through material in search of writers for development.  I'm transitioning into my new life, my new role, and it couldn't feel more right.

Mom

Happy Mother's Day Mom!