Tag Archives: Philadelphia

It Was a Week (in February)

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

It Was a Week (in February)

It was a week of love and death,
of birth and yearning,
Winter holding tight, and Spring burning
bright on birds and flowers returning.

It was a week of wine and cheese
and heart-shaped things,
feathered clouds, like wings,
drumming rain, wind of violin strings.

It was a week of hawks and jays
of vulture flight
and shorter nights,
of elongated shadows in slanted light.

It was a week when war continued
and people died and lied, while some tried
to guide with firm stride
through the upside-down, and slippery slide–

of every week. But this week was not a love poem,
or maybe it was, this week of burning, turning, yearning. Or could be,
as winding like the river to the sea,

it breaks free. Maybe. If. Could be.

This year spring is coming very early. Our crocuses are blooming, and our daffodils are pushing up through the ground. Some places have daffodils in bloom already. We typically have lots of daffodils in bloom around Passover/Easter, unless it is a year when the holidays are late in April. But we still have days of wintry weather. I turned the heat off and turned it back on this week.

We celebrated Valentine’s with a wine and cheese virtual event from Tria in Philadelphia. We picked up the materials in the afternoon for that night’s event.

My husband’s birthday was Saturday. I made him a cheesecake, and we had food from a favorite Indian restaurant (and leftovers the next night!). I didn’t get a photo of his chicken dish.

On Sunday, we went to the Wilma Theater to see Kiss by Guillermo Calderón. It was the final live performance, but the play is streaming now. It is a powerful, moving, funny, shocking, provocative play. I just looked at my husband and said “wow” when it was over. You can read more here and also purchase a ticket for streaming here. We took our usual pre-theater walk.

We also watched the movie, Nanny (Amazon), that like Kiss, dealt with cultural misunderstandings, but also cultural displacement. It’s classified as horror, but it’s psychological horror with folklore. Anna Diop is excellent as the Senegalese woman working as a nanny in New York while saving money to bring her young son to the US.

Brilliant Things

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

Brilliant Things

Path by Dock Creek and Carpenter’s Hall

“One day is there of the series
Termed “Thanksgiving Day”
Celebrated part at table
Part in memory –“
—Emily Dickinson

1.
A whimsical stream
reflecting autumn leaves
and wild turkeys clucking,
cooing, preening their feathers
in early morning light.

2.
The sky is still adjusting,
it suggests peace, then trouble,
ever adaptable, vultures understand
its challenge, a caressing cover
that evaporates over time.

3.
Autumn’s stained-glass light
and long shadows overtake
summer’s dawn choir and rabbits,
the graceful melancholy beauty, an expression
of loss and remembrance.

4.
By the river’s edge
a coyote dashes
on powerful legs, she doesn’t
glance at the irate honking geese–
I’m encircled by tangible wonders.

5.
A Thanksgiving table
our family gathered
with food and wine, telling stories, laughing,
and around us our ghosts smile,
yes, they are with us still.

I used some of Jane’s Random words for this almost Cadralor.
Last week was strange and stressful. It was good to see family at Thanksgiving. Who was able to come kept changing throughout the day.

We saw Every Brilliant Thing at the Arden Theatre in Philadelphia on Saturday. It deals with the painful topics of depression and suicide, but it is not a depressing play. There is humor and joy, and ultimately it asks us to consider the brilliant things of every day. Audience members who agree are given cards with words to call out when during the play, the actor calls out the number. Other audience members were given roles in the play. This is the fourth time the Arden Theatre has presented this play with actor Scott Greer. It’s the first time we’ve seen it, but my husband and I both agreed we’d see it again.

Five Facets of Flight

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

“Sparkle Birds”

Five Facets of Flight

“When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon
and your heart is light too & huge,
beating with pure joy, pure helium.
The sun’s white winds blow through you,
there’s nothing above you,
you see the earth now as an oval jewel,
radiant & seablue with love.
It’s only in dreams you can do this.”
–from Margaret Atwood, “Flying Inside Your Own Body”

Dawning with Morning Moon

1.

The light’s in flight,
dreary November has come,
soon the rain will become sleet,
rattle-tap on windows, icing their glow.

Geese

2.

Geese in the night—
honks of navigation and determination,
taking turns leading and following,
the V breaks, re-forms, circles
over my roof, farewell, they cry.

3.

Wren! Oh wren, how you sing
to your love, high-hidden
your voice flies, resolved, repeat, repeat,
repeat each summer-breath into the cold November sky.

4.

Now you calculate the physics of flight–
hope plus dreams, minus rules,
but there are divisions, a point reconsidered,
and the sides of the equation are never equal.

5.

Open the book to flight,
there it is—the act of living–
there are no rules, only gravity,
but look how our ancestors defied it–
they flapped their wings, we rise.

“Flight,” by Tatyana Fazlalizadeh Philadelphia, Mural, Philadelphia
“Flight,” by Tatyana Fazlalizadeh Mural, Philadelphia

I used some of Jane’s random words.
Wasn’t it just recently that we were sitting outside sipping wine? Hah, said Mother Nature, you’re getting much too comfortable, and she has sent cold, blustery winds here. Though, I’m thankful we’re not getting the over 6 ft of snow that the Buffalo, NY area has. This will be a busy week dealing with family stuff, work, and Thanksgiving prep—leading up to Thanksgiving on Thursday.
On Saturday, we were able to get a walk in before seeing a play, School Pictures, at the Wilma Theater.

We both liked this play—a one-person show in which the actor, who worked as a tutor for many years, sings about students they taught. The actor plays a variety of school room/toy instruments pulling them from lockers and behind screens. There are revelations about the NYC public school system and its inequities—relevant, but gently done. It’s a quirky show that lulls you in. It is now available to be streamed for a brief time, Nov.21-Dec.4, with a pay what you wish option. The mural, “Flight,” is new. I looked up, saw it, and was stunned.

We also watched the movie, Emily the Criminal. We both like Aubrey Plaza, and this was a different role than other movies and shows we’ve seen her in. We both liked it, and I think there’s a shared theme between it and School Pictures—opportunity, connections, chance. She plays a woman who is saddled with student debt but cannot get a job that pays more than minimum wage because of her past criminal record. (It’s never fully explained, but we sense she had a troubled homelife and then an abusive relationship.) Here’s the trailer, but I’m glad I didn’t watch it first.

Random Cat Photo

Bangs and Whispers

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

Early Morning, Delaware River

Bangs and Whispers

The attempt was not furtive,
not noiseless, it was abusive, shameless
a deafening crash—
we’re crashing. . .crashed

over the precipice,
past nervous titters,
and anxious alarms
into the volcano,

we wait for a line,
a beaming up and out.
There—a bird
an owl, her cry resonates—look–

each cloud indents the sky,
like a paragraph on a page,
now watch the blue
more words float into view:

less mothering from a tiny red rose
there is life and death and magic in the woods

Morning Rain

for if in rain, pale petals fall
and time cries with tapping beats
against the glass, stop, listen,
hear the drumming, hear the violin sighs

of life aches–
the raw is still there
but pink-petaled spring
whispers under a sweetened lemon sun,

failure, collapse, frightening–
and boundless—once upon a time,
the stars sang a secret. . .
I wish.

June, Red Bank Battlefield

This is a poem created from the Random Words I generated yesterday and some of the Oracle’s words from Saturday. I’m getting this up early so I can do some work before the next round of January 6 Committee Hearings begin this morning at 10:00 AM Eastern Time.

We listened to the first televised hearing on Thursday night on the radio as we were driving home from a beautiful night with dear friends at William Heritage Winery, and then watched it on TV after we got home. It was horrifying and stunning to watch. It’s beyond doubt that the former president instigated an attempted insurrection. Unfortunately, it’s gone beyond him now and growing.

Merri’s Movie, TV, Theater Club:
We finished the new season of the Danish political drama, Borgen, which was a lesson on how power corrupts. This season returned after nine years. It is an excellent series, which I highly recommend. We stated watching the new season of Stranger Things. It’s a lot of fun so far. Both shows are on Netflix. I didn’t watch either trailer because I don’t want to know anything in advance.

I get emails from Focus Features, and so I was able to see a free virtual screening of the new Downton Abbey movie, Downton Abbey: A New Era. It was a bit predictable, but it was Downton Abbey—well-acted, beautiful filmed—and if you like the show, you’ll enjoy the movie. I did.

On Saturday afternoon, we saw Into the Woods at the Arden Theatre in Philadelphia. We walked around in a light rain first. It was a very enjoyable production, the audience around three sides of a bare bones stage with an excellent orchestra raised behind them. It was a show of imagination and storytelling—no special costumes, just a few props like crowns, red cape, golden shoes, Rapunzel’s braid, etc. Several cast members played multiple roles, including playing Snowy White the Cow, the hen that laid golden eggs, and the Giants’ harp. The Baker’s vocals were the standout for me, but all the actors sang beautifully. We both enjoyed this production very much.

Washington Square Park, A rainy afternoon in June
Roof Garden

What do Flowers Know?

Posted on by

Monday Morning Afternoon Musings:

Conscience or conscious—
both require awareness—
to be alive is not enough,
do flowers know their own beauty?

Soon nested geese pairs
will egg-sit, they’ll
hiss at those who pass too close,
and honk and fight
to protect their young–

a simple idea—protection of children,
loved ones, the world. We may insist
we’re innocent, but still-tongued too often
as the bullies come
and why soars like an eagle, dropping feathers
of doubt, but not conviction–a
frozen thought awaiting sun-warmth
to emerge and bloom

a consciousness of each new dawn,
a rebirth—

blue hope swallowing grey despair,

as daffodils poke through the snow,
beautiful and toxic, anything to survive,
but there is more than one way,

sunflowers smile and follow the sun,
trampled, they drop their seeds to feed others,
then rise again, with a nod and a wink.

Sunset taken from upstairs window
Looks like spring on this block in Philadelphia

This has been a strange weather week, in an ever-stranger world. On Friday, it was beautiful, on Saturday, we had rain, then snow, then wind with more snow. This week will be spring-like and warm.

We saw a production of the play A Man for All Seasons by the Lantern Theater Company at the Plays and Players Theater in Philadelphia. It was great to see a live production, and I feel safer that they still require vaccination proof and masks. I don’t think it was a perfect production, but the acting was excellent. Though I don’t believe Thomas More is a saint or agree with all his beliefs or decisions, he certainly stood by his convictions. We also saw a French movie called Oxygen. It’s been in my Netflix queue for a while. We both liked it a lot. It’s about a woman who wakes up in a cryogenic chamber. She doesn’t know who she is or how she got there—and she’s running out of oxygen. It’s best not to know more. The movie and show made me think about conscience and consciousness.

As do the people who shout about their freedom being denied because they have to wear a mask or get a vaccine–which is protecting other people, as well as themselves–but who are perfectly willing to take away rights from others. See Texas, Florida, various other states with GOP majorities, Russia. . .war in Ukraine. . .


We’re also watching a Turkish series on Netflix called The Club. It’s set in Istanbul in the 1950s, and deals with family, love, trauma, and relations between Sephardic Jews and Muslims, and some of the political events going on at the time.
I’m nearly finished with a novel by Chris Bohjalian called Hour of the Witch. It’s about a 17th century Puritan woman who tries to divorce her abusive husband and then is accused of witchcraft. (FYI: there was divorce in Puritan New England, as marriage was a civil contract. There was also a belief in witches and devils.) I love historical novels, but I’m also very picky about them. This one is well-researched and well-written.

A Desire for Magic

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

“I don’t want realism. I want magic! . . .I don’t tell the truth, I tell what ought to be truth.”
Blanche , Tennessee Williams, A Streetcar Named Desire

Foggy winter morning. The river is completely obscured.

Fog-clad river flows,
unseen gulls laugh and call, trains
whistle lonesome morning blues,
ghost sounds from a cloud realm,
lull beak-tucked geese in fitful sleep,

and do they dream? In
bird-soul night do they recall
hopes and dreams, or seek magic
in the everyday?
Imagine river-worlds beyond this

clouded grey expanse?
Tomorrow’s sun will erase
the smudges, reveal azure—
there all along–science
of light, magic of perception

how I hear moon-song,
see time rippling like a wave
caught in glass, there a reflection
reveals what could be, or
perhaps what never was. Is this truth–

Merchants Exchange Building, Philadelphia
Carpenters’ Hall, Philadelphia

a poem of rays
that sing in distant domain,
warbled notes of space-time strike
the window, the water,
the river gulls, and streetwise squirrels,

Old City Squirrel, Philadelphia

connecting them all.
Magic and realism both,
the dance of earth, moon, sun, stars
creating life and vision
of colors, all that we can see–

and those beyond our dreams.

Walt Whitman Bridge at Sunset, taken from the car

This is a wayra chain, in case you’re wondering. 😉

We’ve had a week of cold and warm weather, fog and light. The snow has melted, though a little wintry mix fell early this morning, icing sidewalks and coating the cars. We braved the elements and Covid to go to a live theater performance on Saturday afternoon. We saw A Streetcar Named Desire at the Arden Theater in Philadelphia. They checked vaccination cards and IDs, and they required all in the audience to remain masked throughout the performance. It was fun to be out, and the story is moving, even if this was not the best production. We both thought the secondary characters were excellent, and much better than the leads. The man sitting next to my husband couldn’t hear the actors, but for some reason decided to stay for the entire performance.

Today is my daughter’s birthday. She and her now husband were in a wonderful college production of Streetcar—she was Blanche and he was Stanley. Desire struck that Streetcar. When they got married a few years later, the director of the production officiated.

Random Food Photo

Mixed- Berry Crisp for dessert last night

Beginnings, Endings, and All There is, In-Between

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

“Maybe the dead know, their eyes widening at last,
Seeing the high beams of a million galaxies flick on
At twilight.”
–from Tracy K. Smith, “My God, It’s Full of Stars”

December Morning Moon
Early Morning, Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

Before the beginning, there was another,
and perhaps another before that, bangs and waves,
an infinite, endless sea of possibilities—
of if, not when,
light sparks life.

Yet here I am, and here you are,
each the sun of our own universe, surrounded by planets,
stardust in our blood, blinking pulsars for an infinitesimal moment
of time. Beacons, ships in the night, we gaze
at the ghost streams of long-dead stars,

an recreate the twinkling gleams in candles
and sparkling lights adorn trees as winter appears.

Birthday Wine at Blue Cork Winery

We celebrate the anniversary of my birth
leave footprints in the sand, as our ancestors once did,
as they emerged from watery depths–as we do,
each birth the same and different, each life unique,
distinct, and less than a speck.

Ocean City, NJ

It’s all in the perspective. The horizon beckons, but is never reached.
I watch the gulls hover and soar, catching wind and light.

Gull in flight, Ocean City, NJ

As we celebrate, holding fast to dying light, catching fire in
glass and cup, echoing the chirps of stars and gull laughter,
our friends sit a vigil,
and we look to the past, knowing we can’t return—
and if I could put on my younger self’s skin, like a selkie
dons her castoff seal pelt, I don’t think it would fit,
not in this world, and it’s the only one I know,

with shadows looming from the light, imperfectly perfect, gigantic, a pinprick—we dream–a lifetime passes in a second.

December Dune

My birthday was last week. We went to Ocean City, NJ, to take a walk on the beach, which was mostly deserted except for some people walking their dogs. We saw lots of egg casings and horseshoe crab remains on the beach. I had a free glass of wine for my birthday at Blue Cork Winery, and then we had Indian food and champagne (actually a crémant). To continue my birthday celebration a couple days later, we went to the art museum, and then walked to the Christmas Village in Philadelphia. I started laughing when my husband took a photo of me eating a cannoli, and then I couldn’t stop laughing, which made me think of my mom, and made me cry while I was laughing. A dear friend’s mother died on my birthday. We paid our respects on Saturday, and then took a drive to see the house where I lived when I was in high school.

Merril’s Movie Club: We streamed Belfast this week. In this beautifully filmed in black and white, Kenneth Branagh takes a nostalgic look at Belfast, a sort of love letter to a place and time that no longer exists. It’s bittersweet without being too sappy, though set during a time of violence, strife, and intolerance (and I think that’s understood). I liked it very much, and it was a perfect holiday/birthday movie.

Last night, Santa drove through town.

Infused

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

Infuse

a subtle taste, in this golden glow
find a centering, a time and place to recall
moments of friendship, laughter that falls
with ease, a seizing of the day–

but, oh the moon! She hums, not sweet,
but fiercely, in tune with the season
of upside down and in-between, dispersing
in her way

Moon setting in sunrise glow over the Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield.

reflected light. The light!
through gold and green, the illumination of things
not always seen—the molecules that ignite in color
and flame

to arc across the sky. Hello and goodbye.
The magic vanishes too soon—sunrise to starry night—
I follow science, but understand delight
in looking up and all around

I’ve found the sound
of moon-sighs and dawn’s reprise,
the whispers of the river and trees,
the canopy above suffused with hues so bright—

My willow at Dock Creek, Old City Philadelphia

and if the shadows drop, lengthen, and call,
they can’t appear without a gleam–
a radiance diffused or luminosity suffused
from ancient boom and blast and whirls of gas–

our starry nights, our souls delight
we see, seek, carry this light.

Today–a hint of pink, curves and lines.

The sky has been fascinating and gorgeous this week. We got together with some friends this week, and my friend Pat was so excited about her new infusing pitcher.
We also attended our daughter’s talk about Bordeaux wines and Blue Cork Winery’s Bordeaux-style wines and cheese pairing.
We streamed the Lantern Theater’s production of The Plague, a play based on Albert Camus’ novel. It was a well-done and timely production.

We saw an immersive Van Gogh exhibition. I wasn’t certain what to expect because I’ve heard both good and not-so-good reviews. There seem to be several different companies that are touring around the globe with these exhibitions. This one, though originally advertised as being in a secret Philadelphia location, turned out to be in suburb outside the city, less convenient for us. We went on Sunday morning at 9 AM, assuming correctly that there would not be too much traffic on the street or people at the venue. (Proof of vaccination was required and masks had to be worn.) We both liked the show, but we didn’t think it was the most amazing thing ever. We learned some information in the gallery section, but I really was not a fan of the Van Gogh prints that were like backlit canvases. We can see real Van Gogh paintings in Philadelphia. And we’ve stepped inside his bedroom at Grounds for Sculpture. However, I really did like the immersive experience. I particularly loved the crows that seemed to fly through the room, the rain that looked like it was forming puddles at our feet, and the starry night with the boats sailing on the river.

After the exhibition, we drove to Philadelphia and walked for about three hours from Old City to Rittenhouse Square and back, and then over to Washington Square to Tria—where the sun came out, we sat outside, enjoying food, wine, beer, and each other’s company.

Not After, but In-Between

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

Not after, but in-between–
the seasons fold gold into green,
the sun emerges, or stays unseen
between, behind, beyond, but true.

Can we linger here awhile?
Jackets on and off, a smile
at pumpkins and the deer—miles
to go, and much to fear

from demagogues and misinformation—
the destruction of our world and nation.
Yet, we don our masks and leave the station—
a celebration, we’re still here.

We plant flowers and bulbs—is it a trope
to say we’re planting hope?
That we’ll not slide from the slippery slope
because this is not after, but in-between—

still, even after winters of despair,
spring comes, with petrichor in the air
and robins’ song, searching and aware
of being between—here and there.

And we on our pale blue dot
look for light, our shot, our spot, our ifs–or not.

A Cloudy Sunrise

I feel like we really are in this in-between place. The pandemic is not over, and fanatics are still going strong. I’m beginning to feel like we’re in the late 1850s in the US or the 1930s in Germany—but with better technology.

Still–we went to the theater for the first time since the pandemic began. We saw Minor Character: Six Translations of Uncle Vanya at the Same Time, which was truly as the Wilma Theater blurb says: “a joyful and music-filled comedic kaleidoscope. A band of actors come together to perform a warm-hearted yet bittersweet look at love, longing, and the limitations of language.” The Wilma Theater required proof of vaccination, IDs, and masks. We had assigned seats with empty seats left around us, and the theater kept at half capacity. They also updated their HVAC system. So, we felt safe—at least as much as we can in these times. We also took Patco for the first time since the pandemic. It was OK, though some people did not wear masks despite the notices and announcements. Also this weekend, we pretended to be Derrick and Jackie Knight and visited a nursery to buy some plants.

Circling: Different and the Same

Posted on by

Monday Morning Musings:

Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield ©️Merril D. Smith, 2021

Songs of ancient glowing flow
from stars to river,
the moon hums sweet and slow–

Ospreys Circling the Morning Moon

the language of clouds and light
and shadow-shapes, the drape
of flowered branches, the white-winged flight

Egret. Delaware River at Red Bank Battlefield

of egret, and the honking geese–
all these feathered things—the sight
of nature, calm, at peace.

  • Geese
  • Turkey
  • Great Blue Heron
  • Turkey Greeting the Sun

We dream as the moon sings
wake to talk in bright sunbeams
of family, books, and everything

mostly trivial, perhaps profound–
in hindsight are we any wiser,
than those underground?

  • Trees in the graveyard at Old Pine Street Church, Philadelphia
  • Pennsylvania Hospital

We venerate them, heroes and saints—
but none are perfect
and whitewashed history paints

such a lovely story.
Forget the horror, remember
only glory

But reflections from the past—see?
The world circles. We’ve been here before—
Look at the glass, remember that tree.

Reflections in the Windows of the Merchants’ Exchange, Philadelphia
“My” willow at Dock Street, Philadelphia

So much different and yet the same–
our lives, the city—still,
we’re glad we came.

  • Tria, Washington West, Philadelphia
    Pennsylvania Beer and Cheese, Italian Wine
  • Garden of Delight, David Guinn, Philadelphia Mural Arts
  • Reflected in the Merchants’ Exchange

This was a strange week—stormy weather and tornado watch on Thursday. Then the weather was beautiful. For anyone who is keeping track, I finished the history chapter I was writing (Sex in Eighteenth-century Philadelphia) and sent it off to the editors on Saturday. That afternoon, my husband and I walked around Old City Philadelphia for the first time since the pandemic. I bought some spices at the new Penzey’s store, and we went to Tria for wine and cheese, which became dinner. I kept saying walking around the city was strange–different and the same.


Merril’s Movie Club: We watched three movies this week. Cousins (Netflix) a story of three Maori women who are cousins. It’s a story of family being separated and found again. We both liked it, and of course, New Zealand is beautiful. There are similarities to the treatment of indigenous people in the US and Canada. We also watched A Call to Spy, based on the true story of women who were spies in WWII. We both liked this one, too. It’s a story that most people do not know about. My favorite movie of the three was The Fare (2018, free with Amazon Prime), a pretty much unknown low-budget indie film. It looks and has the feel of an old Twilight Zone episode. Harris, the cab driver picks up Penny. There’s an instant connection (these two actors definitely have chemistry), and then she disappears. We discover they’re repeating this loop over and over. But this is not Groundhog Day. To say more would spoil it, but it’s a unique take, and we both really liked it. Derrick will be pleased to know we ordered a ton of Indian food last night, and we’ll be eating leftovers tonight.