And now for something completely different!

Last week I just had to post a most beautiful rendition of a brilliant age-old standard, “SEPTEMBER SONG” performed by my beloved honey, George Ball.

Today I am sharing with you something hot off the musical presses…a song so new it has yet to be performed except by me in my bathroom, and in this recording…a silly song of no great import, but one that was fun to write and hopefully to listen to.

I wrote this with my dear songwriting pal David Friedman , who asked me via e-mail one day if I was READY to go back out into the WORLD…into this NEW NORMAL.

Both of us quailed at the thought. And then we decided to write a song about our quailings. And here it is…THE NEW NORMAL.

And THANK YOU to all my beloved pals who contributed their photos of how they have been coping  during this New Normal.

 

 MORNING ABLUTION

 I start the day
with poetry
I start the day
with prayer
the simple act
of believing
that something
beautiful
simple
powerful
ephemeral
is out there
willing to
come here
to my morning
heart
my pre-caffeinated
veins

 

A request for
peace
a receiving of
wisdom
from some other
soul
who sat at a
table
under a
tree
in a
cell

And breathed his
soul’s breath
her heart’s
dew
into the forever
air

In the sublime act of
faith
that someone
will read
will hear
will respond
will receive
will start the day
with poetry
or prayer

With Love & Music,

Amanda

 

 

Well, hasn’t THIS just been the most interesting couple of months?!!!

The Spring of Covid 19, when the world changed forever!

We have all read the books (WHEN THE ENGLISH FALL comes to my mind) of when society is faced with some enormous disaster…when the Mother finally decides she has had about ENOUGH and starts exterminating the ants in her jungle kitchen…the ants being US.

And to watch it all unfold from the peaceful shores of Cooper’s Beach, New Zealand, the most beautiful place in the world… was surreal.

Of course, this community, being retired Kiwis, are healthy, well-behaved, ruled by a BRILLIANT Prime Minister whose decrees they follow to the letter. When she says stay 6 feet away from EVERYBODY, including the people you have been having drinks with for two weeks, they obey!

So for three lovely weeks, as their summer turns to Fall, we watched the human race fall into whatever this next paradigm will be.

And EVERY one told us to STAY THERE. We are too old to come home to a hot zone. I tried! I swear I tried. But the call of pets and gardens and home was too strong. Besides which, had we stayed another day I would have gone out of my mind from homesickness, boredom, and carbohydrates.

(And the local liquor store had closed so there would be no Vodka, and that will NEVER do.)

For three days we tried to get out of town. Flights being cancelled last minute, no more flights to be had. We packed, we unpacked, we emptied the wine bottles, we bought more wine, we ate all the cheese and bread, we bought MORE cheese and bread.

Finally two incredibly dear friends transported us from 5 hours North to the Auckland airport. Richard drove us to Whangerie (with beloved pup Nigel snoring in the back seat next to me where I could find comfort in the act of petting something). Then lovely Bevan, son of dear, dear Hugh and Diane, who handed us pots of hand sanitizers and waved us away, drove us the next 21/2 hours to the airport on beautiful totally empty roads.

The airport was close to totally empty as well. We were EARLY, so they told us we had to sit on a bench outside for two hours before they would let us in to the terminal. I had to walk to the domestic terminal 15 minutes away, to pee… SOME exercise, thank God!

Then some kind Air New Zealand man let us in, and we wandered through this almost totally empty international airport till we found a wheelchair for G, the ONLY kiosk that was open with some juice and Cokes, and we sat for another 3 hours till it was time to board.

Seeing the entire crew in masks and gloves was a bit disturbing… or maybe reassuring.

To see the various ways people are choosing to protect themselves, from nothing to wrapping themselves entirely in plastic was a lesson in the variety of the human fashion sense.

(This is actually a shot from a market in Joshua Tree, but her sister in fashion was standing by the curb at the Auckland airport.

Wee made it home at last, arriving at a totally empty LAX, another surreal moment. We self-isolated for two weeks, waving at friends And now we seem to be germ free, as do all of our beloveds.

And what will the world become, I wonder? Kinder?… more divisive? …more aware of the POWERFUL fragility of our mother planet?…Stay tuned!

And here is a poem I wrote for the little girl I met staying at the house next door to us on the beach. Her name is Ruby Belle. Long many she wave!

RUBY BELLE

I MET A GIRL NAMED RUBY BELLE

UPON THE SILVER SAND

WITH GOLDEN CURLS UPON HER HEAD

A SEASHELL IN HER HAND

SHE LED ME TO THE WATER’S EDGE

TO WATCH THE WAVES AT PLAY

SHE THREW A KISS, UNFURLED HER WINGS

AND SOFTLY BLEW AWAY.

And once again the end of the year comes sweeping into the room, ripping the calendar pages and leaving them to fall in a pile of memory onto the floor of my house and heart.

What a year it has been! Since last I typed, tardy blogger (or blogette…or maybe bloggem…in keeping with the current trend to be all genders to all people, which leaves me, ancient that I am, in confusion. I fear I have entered the universe of grammatical old farts), much has happened, most of it happy and fortunate, which is how I feel at this moment. As long as I don’t read the paper or listen to the news, life is great.

There has been happy travel, to such diverse places as my favorite city on the planet, London, where I sang happily and tore my meniscus and wound up hobbling up and down the stairs, stairs, stairs that make up that city…that country…and for the first time recognized I might NOT be immune to the injuries time insists on inflicting on those who survive their twenties…what????) But when you get a chance to stay in a manse in the Cotswolds, you must not complain!

…discovering the beauties of impossibly green Bainbridge Island off of Seattle, counting my blessings that I have inherited some of the most wonderful and INTERESTING relatives, including my cousins Bruce and Kathie…Bruce being he who was one of the most famous still photographers in the movie industry, with faces of folk such as Peter Sellars, Eddy Murphy, and the Beatles on his gallery wall…my father gave him his first camera…and his gorgeous wife Kathie who was the costumer on one my first TV shows…a STARSKY AND HUTCH long, long ago, and long, long before she met my cousin and became my cousin in law…

…and even more boggling French Polynesia where I celebrated 50 years of togetherness with my honey as we swam in the impossibly triple blue waters off of Bora Bora. 50 years??? How is that possible? And we still like each other. A miracle!

After many months of what I feared was permanent creative exile, there was the creation of a new concert concept …my LADY MAC BETH SINGS THE BLUES…contemporary songs for Shakespeare’s heroines…which debuted at our lovely Rubicon Theater. (I saw a t-shirt recently I HAD to acquire …the bust of Will with a caption under it saying “This shit writes itself”…hilarious!)

And my beloved pal Michele Brourman and I leapt into yet more animated features for Dream Works, entering the world of Curious George the good natured monkey. I do love writing for animation…it is akin to writing very short Broadway musicals while lounging in your pajamas.

Losses there were, as more and more there seem to be. I said to Michele I believe we are now leaving the garden of HELLOS and entering the tundra of GOODBYE.

The loss of both our two oldest dogs, Duffy

and Charley,

and our favorite cat Spatz.

That was a triple blow that bruised our hearts. We have four legged children rather than two. They are as dear to us as any human child can be.

BUT THEN, into our lives came Fred Astaire, highest leaper and silliest cat on the planet,

and the JUST rescued Jumping Jack Flash the mystery pup. He is so new he only has one name so far, and we are still not sure exactly who he is. But we will surely discover his secrets.

And THAT is the advantage of having four-legged children. They leave too soon, but there is always someone waiting in a cage somewhere wanting to be rescued.

I realize this is sounding more and more like a Christmas letter. Apt, I suppose, as we are approaching that day so very fast. I am typing this from the sky as I wing home from a quick but delicious trip to wintery, Christmas-twinkly New York City where I sang with brilliant John Bucchino at Birldand, saw beloved Eastern pals and a great new piece of theater…JAGGED LITTLE PILL…based on the music of Alanis Morisette. It was an excellent dive into the world of current teenage turmoil. Bless the brave and troubled hearts of all young people everywhere these strange days!

In the world of literature and art:

Book: EDUCATED…wow! What an amazing true story of survival and determination

Movie: THE RIDER…a gorgeous small film

Music: The Django Rhinehardt All Stars- if you want to feel REALLY happy and energized, these guys are the real deal!

And so as I wish you all a very happy end to 2019, and a grand entrance into 2020, I leave you with the lyric of my latest collaboration with my beloved pal Michele Brourman, our latest Christmas tune.

(AND I do believe I am going to have to record a Christmas CD this year. At least an EP! I am getting nagged!)

ALL ABOUT LOVE

They’re hauling out the reindeer in September

Hanging up those lights of reds and greens

But as the time draws near we should remember

What this special season really means

 

It’s not about the tinsel

It’s not about the trees

It’s not about the snow or smoke

That floats upon the breeze

For those of us who tan

And those of you (us) who freeze

This time

It’s all about love

 

It’s not about the Matzoh

It’s not about the dreydel

It’s not about the plastic baby

In a cardboard cradle

For those who sip their kosher wine

Or eggnog from a ladle

It’s all about love

 

In these darkest days of winter

This dying of the year

Let’s put aside our fearful pride

And bring each other cheer

 

It’s more than just a Torah

A Koran or a Bible

Or atheism, God forbid,

That gets one sued for libel

Let’s walk the path of common ground

And cast away the tribal

This time

Is all about love

This time

It’s all about love

Spring has danced in to my life…not on little dainty pink ballerina flowered feet, but a thundering righteous horde of roustabout roses, whooping wisteria, screaming star jasmine, irate iris, oozing orange blossoms…the fragrance fills the night so full that my back patio resembles a very expensive olfactory house of ill repute.

I have been longing for this month for five years…five long, dry years of drought and discouragement. I find it now, aside from being such a glorious display (which re-enforces my belief that God is secretly a gay interior decorator from Las Vegas…oh, yes…purple goes so well with yellow…and hello, fuschia!) overwhelming…exhausting with wonderment. I know the gold and brown of summer is just around the corner, but for now I bury my head in the green, green grass on the hillside.

I suppose that is my current attitude about life in general these days… taking comfort in the small miracles of the moment as the larger events of the world roar over my head.

I should, I SHALL take bigger steps with open eyes and DO USEFUL THINGS as soon as the roses stop dancing on my doorstep. Oh, the procrastination of Spring!

(I recently heard on NPR…my source for TRUTH…that in certain Asian countries, there is no concept of SHOULD or COULD. Isn’t THAT a boggler? To live only in the world of IS and WAS…I wonder if that is a good or bad thing? )

The days since January have tumbled past in such a hurry! The annual trip to beautiful, tranquil New Zealand,

so recently brought into the maelstrom of the rest of the world by the horrendous bombing in Christchurch…the elegant way their Prime Minister, Ms. Jacinda, has handled the mayhem…

…the great joy of singing with my astounding musical pals Ann Hampton Callaway and Michele Brourman in Palm Springs, Virginia, and Pittsburgh…

…and the thrill, after twenty years of threatening to do so, of creating a concert with my brilliant composer/songwriter pal, John Bucchino. My musical plate has been so full!

And what does the summer hold?

…A trip to London, my favorite city, with Michele B, to sing once more…a revival of my one-woman musical, LADY MACBETH SINGS THE BLUES as a concert at my beloved Rubicon theater in June…who knows what else the Universe is waving at me?

I find myself looking at events these days with a hint of “if this is the last time, make it good!” I suppose that is an attitude I should take with every moment, and not just because I am soon reaching three score and twelve (how did THAT happen?????)

I was seriously debating whether or not to have my face chopped and channeled as a birthday gift. (Yes, vanity sits on my right shoulder, cowardice on my left, at all times.) Then I saw a wonderful article about Glenda Jackson, who is playing King Lear at the age of 82. The photo of her was glorious…a road map of her entire life in all its fury and adventure. (Amazing how much she looks like Sir Ian McKellan!) And I thought, why in the world do I want to erase the history that lives on my face…the map of me? So I retreated from that concept and am searching for what will replace that desire…an electric bike?…another CD?…worthy causes to donate time and money to? Yep…I think that’s the ticket.

And for those of you who might wonder what have I been watching, listening to, reading?
MOVIES: “THE RIDER”! An absolutely beautiful, deeply touching small film that you SHOULD NOT MISS!!!

And “HOW TO TALK TO GIRLS AT PARTIES” Truly one of the most wonderful and strange films ever!

(Of course GAME OF THRONES! I watch with dread at every thrust and parry!)

BOOK: “NEVERWHERE” by the wondrous Neil Gaiman. Oh, that man’s language!

MUSIC: The Fabulous Barb Jungr with John McDaniel, re-thinking the music of STING. Wow!
And in keeping with my rant about age a paragraph or six ago, here’s a poem and my wishes for you a lovely summer!

FOREVER TWENTY-ONE

“FOREVER TWENTY-ONE”
SHOUTS THE SIGN
ABOVE THE DOOR
OF THE SHINY NEW
DEPARTMENT STORE
ITS SMOKED GLASS AND STEEL
BRAZENLY SHRIEKING
IN THE SUNLIGHT

DEAR GOD, I THINK!
NO THANK YOU!
FOREVER TWENTY-ONE?
WHOSE IDEA WAS THAT?
WHAT SPECIAL RING OF HELL
WOULD THAT ENCOMPASS?

FOREVER ON THE CUSP
OF HERPES AND MASCARA
CROTCH STRANGLING JEANS
FOOT BINDING HEELS
SEE-THROUGH SHIRTS
REVEALING PNEUMATIC CUPS
BRIMMING WITH PLIANT FLESH
FOR THE PRURIENT ENTERTAINMENT
OF CURIOUS PASSERS BY
FOREVER TWENTY-ONE?
NOT ON YOUR LIFE!
AND… SMUG WITH AGE…
OFF I STROLL
IN MY SENSIBLE SHOES