This Moment - So Beautiful

I'm in the middle of several project-posts. And yet I feel like blogging classically, in the moment. I'm sitting in the basement of the home I grew up in. Last night, and the night before that, I slept in the bed and room I slept in as a child. I even did some pictures on the wall via the light from the side of the house next door - for old time's sake. Last night, just after shul, Shabbos, and havdallah wound down dad noticed that The Blind Side was starting. We watched it together. Dad had already seen it but watched it again with me. What a sweet movie about a gentle giant (and before you say it to yourself or feel compelled to write it here, let me say that it is about other things too). Lately I've been in touch (mostly around the issue/excuse of each of us working on losing weight) with a dear childhood/lifetime friend. I remember him telling me that when he was a kid his father turned to him as they exited the theater, after seeing Bang the Drum Slowly, "Man's inhumanity against man." It's wonderful for me when a movie addresses humanity, I see that as it's job. That reminds me of something a student said to me years ago. He, and others, felt that a teacher was insensitive and inappropriately harsh. He said that he expected more from an English teacher because the point of fiction and English, in general, as a discipline was to increase humanity. Go amazing student! Anyway, I'm in the basement where I used to go to be alone as a kid. They say you can't go home again. I don't get that, because I've gone over and over. Here I am. Paul Simon's new album is available on NPR till it's released on Tuesday. I'm listening now. He just sang, "I loved her the first time I saw her - I know that's a writing cliche..." (Love and Hard Times). Yesterday, the rabbi of my dad's shul announced that my book came out, after having read Gil Student's post about it and linking to that piece in the shul email-bulletin. One dear member of the congregation bought a copy and told me that through the poems he could see into my soul and added, "If you don't mind my saying." Not at all. That's the kind of comment I'm talking about. On Friday afternoon I received an email from a dear friend, which included these heartfelt words: "I'm proud of you for putting yourself out there with the haiku. I know that's not easy to do - and it feels significant. Very courageous, especially after your mother's passing... like sharing a vulnerable, genuine part of yourself with the world. I don't know- it feels connected somehow." Paul is now singing Questions for the Angels. "If an empty train in a railroad station calls you to it's destination can you choose another track? Will I wake up from these violent dreams with my hair as white as the morning moon? Questions for the angels Who believes in angels? I do" I love his winking reference to railroad stations and destinations. I love the whole album. I mean CD. I mean download. Time to go to my apartment; it's waiting silently for me.