back to the stage

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Beethoven, Phillip Glass, unauthored cacophonies, but first ballet class…

This weekend I will (finally!) perform in my first real program of the season! That’s seven longs months offstage, folks. Despite last minute adjustments in choreography, costumes, timing, spacing (you know, the usual), I am feeling emotionally r e a d y. I’m dancing Plotnikov, Kozadayev, Yanowsky, and Douglas. Ooof, now say that all five times fast…

So tonight’s the night. It’s about dang time. Let’s do this thing. Go get ’em, tiger. And all those other clichés. See you on the other side.

 

Photo by Dylan Giles.

teenage dreams

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I imagine you are engaged, it’s an excitingly expectant time. Still young, but with big plans.

You take the train into the beantown, you fall asleep next to him on the way. You get off at Ruggles.

You #shoplocal. Fancy chocolate has been procured for later that evening.

You check into a spaceship yotel. There is a convenient rooftop bar. It happens to be sunset. Red wine and tortilla chips are had.

Your favorite band- the one with lyrics that made you want to become a writer- is playing just a few blocks away in a beautiful historic theater. You have tickets in row D.

The lead singer gets behind the piano, he’s about to play your favorite song. The one that makes you cry when you’re not sad, not happy.

They rock. You dance. They close the concert with your boo song. Everyone sings. I need you so much closer…

Back at the yotel, there are fun lights to play with. There is popcorn and seltzer. There is The Parent Trap on TV.

You are complete in the simplest, yet most cosmic of ways.

we bought a house

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on a windy monday

at the end of september

we all shook hands

and signed legal tender

 

with shiny new keys

and dusty cake toppers

turning box after box

into cardboard door stoppers

 

surrounded by trees

and a block all our own

in a little blue place

called fourteen gorton

 

we’re hanging our shirts

and stacking our glasses

making plans to stay home

while this autumn rain passes

 

gooey pumpkin loaf

in our fancy new oven

and a purring dishwasher

keeping all of the suds in

 

we’re warming the hearth

and decorating the rest

two birds flew the coop

now we have our own nest.

ninety degrees in the eternal city

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The weather has been…well, sweaty here in Providence, and it’s bringing back sweet, sticky memories of hot, hot Roma. I suppose it’s about time I got down to sharing my Italy photo diary, so here goes Day 1.

Four days in Rome. A claustrophobic climb to the top of St. Paul’s Basilica rewarded us with a stunning terra cotta panoramic of the city, Rome reflecting the sun with its warm, glowing tettos. The Sistine Chapel, The Trevi Fountain, The Spanish Steps…no historic stone unturned, I assure you.

Days of sweaty sight-seeing in Cathedral-appropriate attire spilled into cold showers, apertivo, and cobblestone strolls to this piazza or that. Many a family dinner, with 2 pizzas for the table, vino flowing from one end of the table to the other and back again, children’s choirs spontaneously rising behind us, a lone cellist filling the hour with that warm, sweeping sound.

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last 3 photos by Michael Collins.

the day we got engaged(!!!)

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The morning began with a walk to one of our favorite coffee shops, Fragments, with two of our best friends.

Then off to Marchée Bastille to share a crêpe and do some people-watching. You insisted on buying me a bundle of lavender…

Off to discover a new-to-me Parisian path- La Promenade Plantée. Serenity in a french highline, walking eye-to-eye with the most romantic rooftops in the world.

Then on to another new discovery, Village St-Paul, where we snuck through the block, to the inner layer of hidden shops brimming with antiques and the curiosities of yesteryear.

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A short walk to Le Marais for some famous falafel. A circle around a pop-up artisan market to remind us of Providence. A quick “bonjour!” to our friends at Place des Vosges.

Home for a shower and suspicious phone home.

On to Les Enfants Perdue for “no salades!” dinner.

A walk to the Green Linnet for “no wine!” Gypsy Jazz.

A quick whisk into a slow über to arrive at La Tour Eiffel, exactly at 12:01, minuit.

A “no fruit!” nutella crêpe, a walk to Trocadero, a seat on a bench, a conversation about bunions, babies, some bravery, and…

A question.

A “YES!”

A clock striking the first hour of the new day in the form of a glittering tower.

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