As I look at my photos and the news for today, I am thinking about relationships.
It occurs to me, here and now, that people can have relationships with
other people,
animals,
themselves,
food,
machines, including their cars, and
guns.
This article about the latest deadly school shooting in the USA includes this quote from Michigan governor Gretchen Whitmer: “This is a uniquely American problem that we need to address.”
The late, great Stephen Sondheim, who wrote profound lyrics and music about so many types of relationships, created this masterpiece, from Assassins, about relationships with guns:
I depend on my healthy relationships to help me make meaning of the disturbing relationships in the world. What are your thoughts and feelings about the relationships described in today’s blog?
Every day, I am grateful for all my sustaining relationships with others, including YOU.
Stephen Sondheim, musical genius and creator of tunes, words, and musicals that have sustained me for decades, died yesterday.
I just took this photo of these books that are always near me:
Those books — “Finishing the Hat” and “Look, I Made a Hat” — contain his lyrics for all his musical numbers and descriptions of his creative process. I love his creations so much that two years ago, my request to Michael for a birthday present was that he just find the blue book, which was packed away in boxes after our last move.
Stephen Sondheim’s music moves me like no others’. I’m sure there are hundreds of blog posts here that feature his music.
Stephen Sondheim’s music has always spoken to me, even when I didn’t know it was him. One of the first songs I chose to sing in front of an audience was “Do I Hear a Waltz” when I was a little kid. Years later, I found out that he had written the lyrics for that. When I was 13 and struggling to physically and emotionally survive heart issues, I was completely captured by a TV production of “Evening Primrose,” which sent me to John Collier‘s incredible short stories. Years later, I found out that Stephen Sondheim had written the lyrics and music for that. When I was dealing with heart problems in 2016, I chose to share this beautiful song from “Evening Primrose” in this blog.
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Before A Little Night Music opened on Broadway in 1973, it came through Boston and I saw it with my beloved late parents, who took me to many, many musicals. I was completely enchanted by all the music, including this:
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Today’s Daily Bitch Calendar mentions clowns!
Honestly, everything is going to evoke Sondheim for me right now.
When I was in my early 20’s, I was part of The Vocal Minority for a local production of Company. Sitting on stage with the musicians, I hit all those high notes and, to this day, the score feels like it’s a part of my mind, body, and soul. Eleven days ago, I saw the latest version of Company on Broadway with my son Aaron, (who appeared, when he was in high school, in a local production of Assassins in the role of John Wilkes Booth).
My cherished, late friend Michelle loved “Being Alive” from that musical, and her partner, Joe, recounted at her memorial how Michelle insisted he listen to that song the night they met. Joe played “Being Alive” for us as we gathered in 2018 to grieve her loss.
Stephen Sondheim, who is no longer being alive on this earthly plane, has helped so many of us in being alive.
One of my most memorable experiences in the theater was seeing the original production of Sweeney Todd on Broadway in 1977. I can still feel the startling whistle blast and see the stage in my mind, as the chorus sang the opening — “The Ballad of Sweeney Todd.”
A few years later, in the early 1980’s, I tried out for a local production of Sweeney Todd, hoping to be in the chorus to sing this amazing music. For days and days after I auditioned, I waited painfully to hear back from the production. I did not get the call and rehearsals began, as I grieved the chance to participate. The day after the first rehearsal, I got a call from the show’s producer. She said, “Ann, why weren’t you at rehearsal last night?” I said, not adjusting to this new information, “I wasn’t there because I didn’t get in.” She said, “What? Nobody called you? Oh no! You’re in!” I was ecstatic, and that was a peak experience of my life, learning and singing that profoundly gorgeous music for months.
Sondheim seemed to focus on and create works that have deeper meanings for me. In the 1980’s, I became obsessed with the Italian film Passione D’Amore. A few years later, Sondheim created the musicalPassion based on that film, which includes this incredible song:
One of the reasons I cry and grieve today is that, at the time of his death, Stephen Sondheim was working on a new musical that is based on two films of Luis Buñuel, one of my favorite film directors. I wanted to see and hear that musical, but I also have faith that Sondheim has left us enough.
I could go on and on with more memories about how important Stephen Sondheim’s music has been to me. Instead, I’ll just share images from yesterday, captured before and after I heard the news of his passing.
No one is alone. To Stephen Sondheim, to all who have interpreted and been moved by his artistry, and — of course! — to you, for sharing this with me, here and now, thank you so much!
I know things ordinary people don’t know because I
was born with a very unusual heart,
grew up in an Orthodox Jewish household,
had an incredibly funny, creative, and kind father, who loved to make people laugh,
had an incredibly caring, kind, clean and neat mother, who loved to laugh,
realized I had a connection with cats when I was very young,
had my first major heart surgery when I was 10 on the day that President John F. Kennedy was assassinated,
have relied on cardiac pacemakers to keep me alive since that day,
spent a lot of time in hospitals where I met many different types of people,
danced in our basement to musicals when nobody was watching,
read voraciously when I was young,
learned to play the piano, guitar, and ukulele,
attended three schools where everyone there knew I had a heart condition,
travelled across the USA by bus when I was 21,
visited many different countries,
danced, danced, danced in the 1970s even though my heart rate was fixed at 72 beats per minute,
majored in English literature at college,
worked as a technical writer, marketing writer, teacher, manager, and psychotherapist,
volunteered for several years at a suicide hotline,
attended graduate schools for film studies and social work,
love hearing other people’s stories,
married two extraordinary men,
gave birth to an extraordinary son when I was 45 years old,
saw people behave at their best and their worst and everything in between (including me),
survived the coronavirus,
have kept learning from all the people I have encountered in my long life, and
have the Daily Bitch calendar, which knows a lot.
Can you tell that I know things ordinary people don’t know from the rest of today’s photos?
Harley knows things that ordinary cats don’t know, but he’s not telling.
It’s a good thing I know things that ordinary people don’t know, because I’ll be teaching several interns about my Coping and Healing groups this morning at 9.
Here is “I Know Things Now” from Into the Woods by Stephen Sondheim, whom I’ve known I’ve loved for a long, long time.
I also know gratitude that ordinary people don’t know, every day, so thanks to to all the extraordinary people I’ve known, including YOU!
As a psychotherapist, I love listening to other people’s stories.
What I DON’T love is other people who act like only their story is:
real,
legitimate, and
worth listening to.
These days, more than ever, it’s important to make room for the stories that are not being heard. Why aren’t they being heard? Because people with power/the spotlight are
loud,
disrespectful of others,
disinterested in the facts,
obsessed with their own grievances,
trying to hold on to power, and
apparently not interested in other people’s stories.
If you do not leave room for other people’s stories, the dominant story becomes strident, repressive, demoralizing, inaccurate, and eventually obsolete. Personally, I am fighting for other people’s stories (including my own!) to be heard, so we can all survive together.
Here is one person’s photographic story for the day:
In my story, there is always room for the the Daily Bitch, love, AND your stories (in the comments section below).
This feels relevant for me: our beloved kitty Oscar is approaching the end of his life. The reason Megan’s family has a cat today is because Oscar visited with her and her husband Paul many years ago and, with his relevant charming and chill nature, convinced skeptical Paul that cats could be incredibly wonderful.
As I’m writing this-feels-relevant-for-me blog post, Oscar is crying over his water bowl and I’m crying with anticipatory grief.
It’s jaw dropping to me that I forgot about the invitation (which I included in yesterday’s post) to stream Stephen Sondheim’s 90th birthday celebration last night, with its jaw-dropping lineup of stars:
I have found many things jaw-dropping lately, including
American leadership’s responses to the pandemic crisis,
racism, sexism, ageism, and homophobia,
how difficult it is for people to get what they need,
how little there is to celebrate these days, and
people’s ability to celebrate, anyway.
Do you see anything jaw-dropping in my photos from yesterday?
It’s jaw dropping
that there was no spinach, parsley, or flour at the supermarket yesterday,
the delicious meal Michael made anyway,
how hard nurses work for us every day of the year,
the level of suffering out there, and
how lucky I am, here and now.
Here‘s the jaw-dropping celebration of Stephen Sondheim from last night:
I look forward to your jaw-dropping comments with (of course!) jaw-dropping gratitude.
It’s important for me to remember that my friend Jeanette noticed that Liane looks like the dancer emoji💃 in that old photo.
It’s important for me to remember that Liane danced in one of my favorite musical numbers ever, “America,” even though I was too young to see her in it. Here’s “America” from the film version of West Side Story.
It’s important to remember that people will be dancing together again, eventually, in New York and elsewhere.
What do you think is important to remember, here and now?
I hope you remember that I’m grateful to YOU, every day.
How bad could it be that I’m self quarantining, knowing I’m doing the best for myself and for all those I care about?
How bad could it be for me to share these photos with my good readers?
How bad could it be if
Michael cooks delicious pasta and
Oscar and Harley look up and share our happiness?
How bad could it be if Stephen Sondheim is turning 90 years old this month? Here he is playing “Move On” at the memorial service for Michael Bennett, who died during the AIDS pandemic:
How bad could it be where you are, here and now?
How good could it be to express gratitude to all those I appreciate, including YOU?
