Skip to main content

Cliffs at Aquinnah

The beautiful clay cliffs of Aquinnah on Martha's Vineyard. I went up here recently with my son and the wind was whipping like crazy but what an awesome view.


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Just sitting around doing jack

I think my blog may have been hijacked. I haven’t written in forever because I’ve been writing …for my job, which may mean I’m no longer a “jobless goddess.” I may just be a regular goddess.
I love the word jack. I could use that all day. Whatever, hopefully those who want to read the blog will read. Back to jack. It’s a cool freaking word. I had a brother-in-law named Jack who pretty much personified the word “cool.” He’s gone too soon and missed by everybody.
There’s Billy Jack, get back Jack, Jack Sprat, Jack Nicholson, Jack Berry, Jack in the Box, Jumping Jack Flash. And my favorite, a little ditty my sister introduced me to, “Jack Mother.” This is a something you say when someone cuts you off on the highway. “I’m sorry officer, I was cut off by that Jack Mother in the blue Subaru.”
My brother Steve has a friend named Jack. I thought he was about the greatest thing ever when I was 12. Who are we kidding? I probably still do. Jackie was hilariously funny and I loved to watch my brot…

Who's got the soap?

I’m wondering at what age I’m allowed to hire a personal care attendant, covered by insurance of course. I haven’t reached my toenails in two and half years and the other day in the shower I seriously considered whether or not it was worth it to soap up below the waist. It hurts when I go anywhere past my kneecaps.
I’m okay with gray hair; that’s been coming in since I was in my 30s and I could still reach my ankles. It’s the burgeoning mountain under my man-sized T-shirts, just below my sagging breasts, that really gets to me. I want to know when exactly I stopped looking like I was 20, because it feels like yesterday. I look in the mirror strictly from the shoulders up these days.
It’s not completely depressing. I know there are about a billion other women in the same boat I’m in. I love the women who wear whatever the hell they want. Doesn’t matter if they’ve got those top-heavy grandma arms or busted veins mapping their legs. I say go for it ladies. I’m gonna get there someday.…

It’s nice to have a job

What a week. I interviewed two really remarkable people: Antonino D’Ambrosio and Aamion Goodwin. That’s pronounced Ah-mayan for all you who were as clueless as myself.
I’ve had a thing for Frank Serpico ever since I saw the movie “Serpico” some 45 years ago and plastered Al Pacino’s face on my teenage bedroom wall. That was Al’s big break you know. Anyway, now D’Ambrosio has made a documentary with the real live Frank Serpico. I’m here to tell you, it may be because I’ll be 60 in a few years, but that 81-year-old Italian American is still very easy on the eyes.
The more D’Ambrosio told me about Frank, the more I fell for him all over again. He went up against NYC police corruption in the early 1970s and ended up paying the ultimate price…he’s still got a bullet lodged in his brain. Sometimes this whole newspaper thing is pretty darn sweet.
Then I talked with Aamion Goodwin. At first I was stuck on the fact that he said “right on” a few times in our initial conversation. Then I called him…