connievkuntz

I hold you, babe.

Jocelyn played Debussy while the returns played on the screen at Tuesdays@9 Chicago.

Generally speaking, I don’t lose sleep when celebrities die. But a few days ago, Quincy Jones died and I found myself tossing and turning. I’ve been a fan of Mr. Jones since the 1980s. In recent years, I’ve enjoyed watching two Netflix documentaries about him: Quincy is about his career and personal life, and The Greatest Night in Pop is about his involvement with the “We Are the World” music video. Both are downright inspiring.

Jones obviously loved music and collaborating; and whenever someone so deeply and successfully loves their craft — and commits to it through thick and thin — and actually loves and somehow holds all the people it touches — Lord have mercy, I am moved. May we all be so held! And may we all hold our craft.

***

Norm Macdonald died in 2021. I lost sleep when he died, too. He was a phenomenal comedian, writer, and host. He was so original and obviously someone who loved his work deeply.

Not long before he died, he interviewed Jane Fonda on “Norm Macdonald Has a Show.” It was completely enjoyable and at the end, he kissed Jane Fonda fully on the lips. It was hot.

I have watched the interview — and the kiss — several times, not because I’m a pervert, but because I wanted to analyze the buildup. I wanted to see if I could figure out how it happened. I never figured out how it happened but I do believe that only people who hold and are held by their craft can kiss like that. Macdonald’s commitment to long anecdotal jokes, amazing writing, and exquisite stand-up inspire and motivate me every day. He was held by his craft.

That was the last time I lost sleep when a celebrity died.

***

The last time I lost sleep when a politician died was in 2002. That’s when Minnesota Senator Paul Wellstone was killed in a plane crash just days before the election. This was back when I lived in Minneapolis, where Wellstone was not only respected and beloved by both parties, he was expected to run for president. Wellstone was held by his politics and the political community seemed to hold him, too.

It was a strange time in politics. It was the post 911 days: George W. Bush was president, Jesse Ventura was governor, Wellstone was dead, a Republican won his seat, and we were at war with Iraq, not to mention involved in several other “armed conflicts.” I didn’t necessarily lose sleep every night, but I didn’t start sleeping well until 2007, when Obama was elected president.

***

Going back in time to 1998, I recollect another time I lost sleep when a politician died. That’s when Sonny Bono died in a skiing accident. This is so stupid, but at the time I still held hope that he and Cher would get back together. I saw them sing “I Got You Babe” on David Letterman’s late night show in 1987 and marveled at how comfortable and careful they were with each other. Surely they would get back together.

Anyway…

After a successful career in entertainment Sonny Bono moved to politics. He became the Republican mayor of Palm Springs, California and later served the Golden State as a congressman. But then he skied into a tree and died.

Not long before he died, Sonny Bono called then-Speaker of the House Newt Gingrich (also a Republican) out for being inappropriate. For once, “inappropriate” wasn’t tied to sexual behavior. Bono said Gingrich was inappropriate because Newt had gone from being a politician to a celebrity. Bono said, “You need handlers. You need to understand what you’re doing. You need to understand the attitude of the media toward celebrities.” Bono thought Gingrich needed to be reminded that he was to be a politician first, not a celebrity.

Isn’t that interesting? A former celebrity called another Republican out for being blinded by their own celebrity status.

I (still) disagree with Bono’s conservative politics. For one, he co-sponsored the Defense of Marriage Act, which –until 2013 — prohibited the federal government from recognizing same-sex marriages. It was passed by Congress in 1996 and signed into law by Mr. Marriage himself, then-President Bill Clinton. But my point isn’t that I’m sitting here counting the countless hypocrisies of our nation’s leaders. My point is I respect that Bono confronted Gingrich. I think that’s important.

***

Fast forward to the Obama years. Unsurprisingly, Gingrich was a vocal critic of President Barack Obama. He called Obama a “con” motivated by a “Kenyan, anti-colonial” worldview. Moreover, the racist Gingrich was an early and ardent supporter of Donald Trump before, during, and after his first election. Last month, Gingrich said on The New Yorker Radio Hour and WNYC that “he’s [Trump’s] had four years to think about what he’s learned…and he has a much deeper grasp of what has to be done and how to do it.”

Grasp.

Grasp means to take or seize eagerly. There is nothing deep or comforting about a grasp. Any way you look at it, a grasp is desperate. And once again we are headed into the political clutches of an administration who grabs and grasps.

***

What comes first when you identify yourself? Are you comfortable with who you are and what you do? Do you hold your family, friends, and craft deeply and dearly? Or do you grasp at them whenever you need attention?

***

Last night, while the country and my county voted red, I was at work. Instead of our usual Tuesdays@9 Chicago show with cold readings and a musical guest, we hosted a watch party. We had a huge screen and an open mic where folks could share something creative while we waited for the returns. It was deep, comforting, and enlightening to see artists share poems, stories, and music that were important to them. I saw and learned new things about my colleagues and my family.

***

I’m still wrapping my brain around the fact that the majority of the nation and my neighbors re-elected a hate mongering and racist celebrity. It wasn’t even close.

***

Countless celebrities have run for office. Clay Aiken (D), Clint Eastwood (R), Al Franken (D), Melissa Gilbert (D), Fred Grandy (R), Diane Neal (I), Cynthia Nixon (D), Ronald Reagan (R), Arnold Schwarzenegger (R), Jerry Springer (D), George Takei (D), Shirley Temple Black (R), Fred Thompson (R), Jesse Ventura (I), and others. Most of the aforementioned were elected, but a few like Aiken, Gilbert, Neal, and Nixon were unsuccessful candidates. We remember them either way, because they’re celebrities, and they know that.

***

Though Kamala Harris lost the election, I have to believe that progress has been made, and that we can learn and maybe even evolve from this two-party system. Until then, in the words of Langston Hughes, I will “hold fast” to my family, friends, and craft.

And my country.

Thanks for reading (and not grasping). -Constance

P.S. Jocelyn attends Northern Illinois University in DeKalb but took the train into Chicago to participate in our watch party.

My ASMR Journey — Yes, I know it’s a corny title.

Daily writing prompt

What’s something most people don’t know about you?

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Most people don’t know I like ASMR. I should probably keep it that way…

Autonomous Sensory Meridian Response (ASMR) started popping up on my radar during the pandemic. I was curious so I did a YouTube search and landed on a video of a woman eating a pickle directly into a microphone. The slobbery audio instantly repulsed me. I was so utterly grossed out that I slammed my laptop shut. In that moment, I assumed all ASMR was nasty and probably pornographic.

A couple years later, I entered my perimenopause era. Sleepless nights, hot flashes and frequent headaches became my new normal. Sorry for bragging!

Nowadays (Nowanights?), when I can’t sleep (and my husband needs to rest), I pop my earbuds in and scroll Instagram reels until I can no longer keep my eyes open.

Most of the reels entertain me just enough to take my mind off my symptoms. Though not an ideal way to fall asleep, I consider the distraction a perimenopausal win. But a couple months ago, something better than a distraction happened. I experienced a brand new sensation: cooling peace.

An ASMR reel by Erica Tokach, also known as @reiki.fairy, played on my phone. Tokach casts from a reiki studio, speaks in a very soft voice and incorporates reiki into her work. Her reel instantly relaxed me. I felt something I rarely feel: pleasantly surprised. I had no idea that the internet could be healing! I would later learn the aforementioned “cooling peace” I felt has a name: “tingle.”

“Tingle,” I’d like you to know, is a word that embarrasses me. At least it used to. Now I associate the word with healing and have spent the past month researching various triggers and learning about their purposes.

I also later learned that the sounds that cause the “tingles” are called “triggers.” I had always thought of that word in a negative context; e.g. “a gun trigger” or a “trigger warning” or “getting triggered.” Now I associate it with peace.

***

After I landed on that initial reel, I started to sift through Instagram in search of more ASMR videos. Many are downright repulsive — the sleazy, pickle-eaters are still out there! But some of the ASMR artists are legitimately calming and I’d like to share three safe, vetted options with you:

@reiki.fairy invites her followers to heal, feel calm and be proud of themselves. She brings a touch of wisdom and unprecedented kindness to her reels.

@safespaceasmr whispers in a calmly lit room and incorporates a touch of humor into her reels. Her, “I heard you have a headache” reel has helped alleviate my headaches.

@mattgangi films his reels outdoors but speaks in an inviting “indoor” voice. He incorporates a groovy, organic vibe into his reels.

I can safely say that these ASMR artists have improved the quality of my sleeping, which is to say quality of my life. If you’re interested, find them on Instagram.

***

For those of you who don’t me, I am a playwright and theatre artist. I am in a constant state of writing, reading and creating things. For the past several months, I have been writing a new play called The Power Room and one of its characters is a talented, young shaman. My goal is to create a play that has a true healing touch on the audience. I want the audience to feel physically and mentally better through this character and this play.

Part of my research involves reading about the craft (mysticism), visiting witch-owned shops and events, spending a lot of time in nature, and testing my craft (theatre) in a variety of different spaces. One such space is Tuesdays@9 Chicago, which is where I work.

Last Tuesday, I performed as A Host of Golden Daffodils. When I perform as “The Daffodils,” I lead with comedy and segue into poetry and spoken word. This time I ditched the comedy and performed an experimental poetic ASMR set. I wanted to see if the combination of light poetry, witchcraft and organic triggers would have a healing effect on a live audience.

Would the audience feel peace? Or would they be repulsed? Would they see value in it? Or would they think it’s stupid? Would they feel healed? Or would they be uncomfortable?

Based on the feedback I received, my piece of experimental theatre worked. I made new discoveries about ASMR’s “place” in theatre and have new ideas about how to focus the intentions and poetry. I’m so grateful!

Now I’d like to test the ASMR a little bit more. If you have seven minutes, could you put your headphones on and watch this video from my ASMR event? To give feedback, simply leave a comment in the feedback form below or email me at connievkuntz@gmail.com.

Intended to be watched in a quiet space with earbuds. It’s experimental and weird.

Go back

Your message has been sent

Thanks for reading and, if you had the time, watching! -Constance

Four full moons – a haiku series

Daily writing prompt

What are you doing this evening?

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Tonight is the season opener of Naked Angels Tuesdays@9 Chicago and I’m excited! We’ve been off since May and have had four full moons since our last show. For every full moon, I wrote a haiku.

I always give Tuesdays@9 my “all” so by the end of every season, even though I am proud and grateful, I’m also thoroughly exhausted. Here’s the haiku I wrote on the May 23 full moon:

don't howl at the moon
when she's full -- she needs quiet
give her space

But after a couple weeks of recuperating, I was ready to be vulnerable and creative again. Here’s the haiku I wrote the night of the June 21 full moon.

the moon shows herself
fully once a month
i must do the same

In July, I focused on understanding the wild yet reliable nature of creativity. I wrote this haiku on the night of the July 21 full moon.

creativity 
is the moon and the moon is
creativity

That haiku is more of a mantra than a poem but at least it reminds me that my creativity — like the moon — is always there, waxing and waning, and part of something much bigger.

***

In August, I took at solo writing trip to Boston. Even though I have TSA Precheck, I was frisked at O’Hare security because the username on my phone’s flight app said “Connie” and my full name is “Constance.” As she patted me down, the agent told me, “The names have to match.”

Later, I arrived at my hotel in Boston.

“Hello. May I help you?”

“Hi! I’m here to check in. My name is Connie Kuntz.”

With absurd and short-lived glee, I slid my drivers license across the counter. I was ecstatic to be in Boston.

The concierge proceeded to look up my reservation.

With a troubled look on her face, she repeatedly looked at me, my ID and her computer screen. After a minute or two, she picked up her phone and called for backup. A woman came out from the back. As she walked to the counter, she made direct eye contact with me. I’m not sure why, but she scared the shit out of me.

Actually, I do know why. Several years ago I read Heads in Beds, a tell-all memoir about the hotel industry that convinced me that everyone in the hotel industry is a coke-head who hates their “guests.”

Anyway, when she arrived at the counter, she looked at her colleague’s computer screen, then at me, then at my ID, and finally muttered, “‘Connie’ is a nickname for ‘Constance.'”

The concierge looked at me and earnestly asked, “So what should I call you?”

I panicked and said, “Uhhhh….Constance?”

It didn’t feel right. First of all, I have successfully avoided saying “uh” for years. I was pissed at myself for breaking my “no ‘uh’ streak.” On top of that, I wanted to apologize to them and ask for forgiveness. I’ve felt silly about my name my whole life and suddenly found myself wondering why.

There’s nothing wrong with Constance but it does take up a little more space. Why is it so hard for me to make space for my own name?

On the night of the August 19 full moon, I decided it was time to fully embrace Constance so I wrote this haiku.

as the river flows
into the ocean, Connie
flows into Constance

So there you have it. Four haiku poems for the four full moons since Tuesdays@9 broke for the summer. And now you know what my plans are for tonight!

***

For the record, Constance is a work in progress. I still feel a surge of embarrassment and shame whenever someone calls me Constance but at the same time I also realize I am simply trying to flow into myself, into my truth. It’s not that radical a concept and I should have done this years ago. Right?

Thanks for reading. -Constance

But she knew how to use her imagination…

Happy Rockford Day.

Rockford Day takes place on the 15th day of the eighth month (8/15) and our main area code is 815. Now you know why today is Rockford Day.

The first Rockford Day took place in 2016. Since then, the city’s small businesses and non-profits have offered specials and discounted rates to celebrate the day. For instance, if you go to a local restaurant and if you say, “Happy Rockford Day” you’ll get a 8.15% discount off of your bill. If that doesn’t make you have 8.15 orgasms, I don’t know what will.

***

When I studied foreign languages in high school and college, the teachers and profs encouraged my classmates and me to choose names that reflected the language and culture we were learning. So in Spanish class, I was Constanza. In Greek class, I was Konstantina (Κωνσταντίνα). In Russian class, I was Konstancia (Констанция).

This wasn’t the same as being called “Punky” or “Muffy.” These weren’t nicknames, for crying out loud. These were cultural expressions. We were expected to think of ourselves — and each other — existing in the culture we were studying. There were giggles at first, but by the end of the year, we were addressing each other with serious respect and admiration for each other and the cultures we were studying.

***

Going from “Connie” to Constanza/Konstantina or Konstancia put a peculiar grit in my heart. It made me itch for something else, something beyond Rockford.

Being a foreign version of myself challenged me to think in new ways, not just about myself, but about my classmates, teachers and profs. There are still some classmates and teachers I automatically refer to in their “foreign” names. There’s Alexandros, Boris, Hermana, Mercedes, Rodrigo…to name a few. I may think of them very often, but when I do, I feel happiness for them. I also feel the grit shift a little bit in my heart, and I go back to longing for something beyond Rockford and Rockford Day.

***

A few days ago, I read the book Constancia and Other Stories for Virgins by Carlos Fuentes. I bought the used book from Powell’s Books Chicago simply because my name (a version of it) is in the title. You might consider this is egotistical. It is! But it’s also therapeutic and mind-opening, so if you ever see a book with your name (or a version of it) in the title, grab it!

Fuentes’s “Constancia” is a 61-year-old menopausal Andalusian who likes to take naps. I’m a 54-year-old perimenopausal Rockfordian who likes to take naps! I found myself laughing and sighing as I read her story and before I knew it, I was transported to that “place” that only exists when I think of myself by a foreign name, studying a foreign language. I love it so much.

Here is a short slideshow that explains what I mean:

***

My kids took ballet lessons for several years. They learned some French along the way and, for a short time, studied the language through Rosetta Stone, an online language-learning program. One early morning Angelo, then a very sleepy six- or seven-year-old, came down the stairs one step at a time. Before he reached the bottom, he paused and said, “Bon jour, Maman” in perfect French, then turned around and went back upstairs.

Since then I have never heard him utter a single word of French. Was he sleep-walking? Sleep-talking? It was a delightfully strange and fleeting moment. I saw him in a whole new light and was instantly reminded of that feeling of being in Spanish, Greek and Russian classes. Angelo starts high school this year and I was delighted to see that he signed up to take French.

***

Thanks for reading. I had to write this quickly because this Rockford Day, I’m going to Madison, Wisconsin! -Connie

P.P.S. I also studied Latin. I didn’t have a name but often went by “puella” which means “girl.”

Riled up

I once saw a solo show written and performed by man who spent more than 20 years of his life in prison.

I marveled at how confident he was in front of the audience. Most of us in “the theatuh”* go through years of education, formal training, and trust-building exercises to achieve such ease. With zero formal education, he carefully guided us into his carceral experience. It was impactful!

Excellent storytelling aside, the fact remains that this man, like millions of Americans, was overcharged and lost several years of freedom and safety in a thoroughly unjust justice system.

When I got home, I was fired up. I told my husband I was never going to vote again because Democrats and Republicans are responsible for our horrendous prison system.

“How the hell can I vote in a system that’s so broken?” I asked. “And why the hell isn’t prison reform our number one political issue!?”

I threatened to “go Libertarian” and proclaimed it was “high time we live off the grid!”

Spoiler: I still vote, I’m still a registered Democrat, and I still prefer cities and convenience to rural settings.

Storytelling…it riles me up.

Some more personal theatrical, cinematic, and literary history

In 2002, I saw a play about convicted serial killer Aileen Wuornos. She was a prostitute who shot seven of her johns to death in 1989 and 1990. At the time of the play, Wuornos was on death row for the murders. After learning about the rape, abuse, and humiliation she endured in her young life, I left the theater angry that she was the one in jail awaiting execution.

Theatre…it riles me up.

A few months later, Wuornos was executed by lethal injection. About a year after that, a film about her (starring Charlize Theron) was playing in most cinemas across the United States. The movie wasn’t as good as the play (they never are) but millions of people like me were outraged at the unfairness of it all. However, it wasn’t until I started writing this blog post that I realized that Theron and other folks in the movie-making industry made millions from Wuornos’s tragic life.

Exploitation…it riles me up.

***

Approximately 14 years ago, before it was a Netflix series, I read Piper Kerman’s book Orange is the New Black. It was upsetting, yes, but also insightful and even inspirational because there was a long list of resources for women prisoners at the end of the book. I was so moved that I dressed up as Kerman at a local “Come Dressed as a Literary Character or Author” event.

Me as author Piper Kerman. Look at that snatched waist!

A few years after I read the book, I watched the series. I was once again outraged and disturbed by the injustices each “inmate” endured. And today, as I write this, I am just now realizing how Netflix and the television industry has profited from the stories of the overcharged, wrongly charged, and wrongfully executed. The overcharged, wrongly charged, and wrongfully executed have not profited one cent and the prisons have not been reformed! Am I riled up? Yes. But…

A little personal history and personal hypocrisy

A few years ago, three completely separate then-friends of mine — people I had invited into my home — went to prison for crimes involving children. Though my family and I were unharmed by them, it was a very disturbing and shocking slew of events.

Betrayal…it riles me up!

And betrayal scares me. What else were they capable of? I suddenly stopped caring about prison reform. I wanted them to go away forever and never again come near my family.

Am I a hypocrite for cutting them out of my life? Or was I forced to make clear boundaries in order to protect my family? Or a little of both? Or a little of both and something else? Jesus hung with prisoners. Hell, he was a prisoner. He was crucified as a prisoner alongside prisoners.

Should I have supported my “friends?”

WWJD?

I did WAMWD. What any mother would do. Cut them off.

A little political history and political hypocrisy

Republican nominee and twice-impeached former president Donald Trump, the biggest hypocrite this country has ever seen, was recently convicted of 34 felonies. It’s unlikely he’ll serve even one minute for his crimes. If anything, the conviction has only endeared him to his base. They’ll vote for him on November 5 and Trump will vote for himself.

If he wins, we’ll have four years of mind-numbing rhetoric.

If he loses, will he incite another riot? Will another police officer die? Will more Americans die while the “normal grandpa” kicks back at home?

To think I once said I’d never vote again is beyond pathetic and ironic, but I felt that way. I did. Hypocrisy, change, and the human condition will always blur the lines of my personal politics. But I will not let that stop me from voting blue, and only blue.

Where we are now

I audibly gasped when Biden announced he would not be seeking re-election. I was on my laptop and immediately slapped it shut.

“What’s wrong?” my husband asked.

“I don’t even want to talk about it,” I said. “I’m too pissed.”

“Just tell me.”

“Guess.”

“Biden dropped out.”

I nodded my head and sobbed.

Politics…they rile me up.

Fandom or Fan Dumb?

It took me a couple days to deal with my Biden grief. I knew I would support Kamala but at first I wanted to hear who her running mate would be and I wanted to wait for the official nomination at the Democratic National Convention. For a hot minute, I half-wondered if Illinois Governor JB Pritzker was going to run. But once President Biden addressed the nation, I felt better. He has that affect on many people, not just me. His resounding praise and endorsement of Kamala Harris made sense and I decided I was all in, even before the DNC.

It may be a dumb way to put it, but I’ve been a Biden “fan” for a long time. Among many things, I love the president’s compassion and that he created a cabinet that actually looks like America. I love that he brought Amanda Gorman to his inauguration. I instantly became a fan of the national youth poet laureate before she uttered one word of her poem. When she clearly enunciated, “Mr. President, Dr. Biden, Madame Vice President, Mr. Emhoff, Americans, and the world” in her greeting, I knew I had to pull my car over and just listen. And when she recited her poem, “The Hill We Climb” I sat there in my car speechless, dumb with hope. Only Biden could give us that moment.

***

I’ve been a Kamala fan ever since she showed up on my political radar in 2019. She’s sharp, tough, and experienced.

Before becoming the vice president, Harris has served as senator, prosecutor, and attorney general. I don’t agree with every move she makes; her record as a prosecutor and attorney general conflicts with what I say I want for prison reform, but she said she has a unique plan to end the war in Gaza.

“The war in Gaza is not a binary issue,” she said.

Neither is prison reform. Neither is immigration. Neither is education. Neither is my political journey. Neither is life! But when it comes to voting, let us vote in a very binary way: ALL BLUE.

Harris is racking up all kinds of support. She’s raised millions on top of the millions she’s inheriting from Biden’s campaign funds. The Obamas endorsed her and over the past few days, my social media filled with renewed democratic hope. I felt hope with Obama, I felt hope when Gorman read her poem, and I feel hope for Kamala.

My family supports Kamala, too. We have a goldfish named after her, for crying out loud. Actually, the fish’s name is Vice President-elect because when we got the goldfish, Harris was still the vice president-elect.

Stretching the binary

A couple days ago, I heard Kamala say her platform will be about the middle class and abortion rights. Fine, but I want to point out that she used the word “binary” when she talked about war. If she sees that war is not a binary issue, she probably sees that nothing is! I believe her nuanced and intentional use of the word is a signal to how she’ll inform and include everyone in our country. I am so sick of the Republican “there are only two genders” hate speech and insipid DEI comments.

Oh please let Kamala win.

What I want for prison reform

Nobody asked, but I’d like carceral life to include weekly nature hikes, pet ownership, access to good libraries and music instruments, performance opportunities, and daily trust-building exercises. It’s what I want, not what I expect.

I’m not riled up. I just thought I’d put it out there.

In conclusion

Most of the time, I’m riled up. I’ve spoken with many a friend and family member about this. Alas, I remain…riled up.

Thank you for reading. Vote Blue! -Connie

*None of us in theatre pronounce it “theatuh” but blogging…it riles me up.

Photo Credit: Vice President-elect is the goldfish closest to the surface of the water.

1730786400

days

hours minutes seconds

until

Election 2024 – Vote Blue!

Swoosh, swish, swoosh

Daily writing prompt

What are your daily habits?

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Every morning, I read a couple NPR stories in bed before I officially get up. Today I only skimmed the headlines. I watched the presidential debates last night and am still thinking about what I observed. I’ll catch up with the news later today.

The debates were interesting and tense. Both candidates were effective at conveying their concerns, but the moderators were the clear winners.

Dana Bash and Jake Tapper were sharp, professional, open, and clear. They repeated questions to keep the candidates on task and stayed true to the fairly-timed format. Their skill and expertise allowed me to learn a new things about each candidate. By example, Bash and Tapper showed us that we, the people, can and should rise and shine to any task with patience, determination, and grace.

I mention the moderators first because regardless of who wins the November election, Bash and Tapper reminded me that the responsibility to create a more perfect union is on us, the people. It is on us to lead, love, and create example.

Trump’s example of leading, loving, and creating includes dog whistle politics (Jan. 6), extramarital affairs, and creating chaos in his home (three wives), his business (numerous bankruptcies), his cabinet (record-setting turnover), his country (Roe v Wade, West Virginia), and across the world (Paris Accord, China, N. Korea, Russia).

He has painted his red platform with broad black strokes. Immigrants bad, swoosh. China bad, swish. Abortion evil, swoosh. Trump’s finishing touch was to slap MAGA on in all white letters.

Much like a prison gang leader, Trump leads and performs well with racist whites, which makes sense because he is a convicted felon — a convicted felon who loves to use the word “legal” until he’s been “legally” impeached, “legally” convicted, and “legally” defeated in the 2020 election. In those cases, he says the legal system was a fraud.

President Biden continues to paint his blue platform with detail and specificity. He speaks up for people who are different genders, colors, orientations, and religions than him. By referring to policy, data, structures, and anecdotes, Biden outsmarted and outperformed Trump in last night’s debate, just as he has as the 46th president.

I was raised to always find something good about my enemies so I will say that Trump had better hair and makeup than Biden last night. But looks don’t matter to me. Neither do tax cuts for the rich, calling the coronavirus the “China virus,” inciting riots, bragging about grabbing women by the pussy, or bragging in general. I’ll tell you what does: Black Lives Matter. Pell Grants matter. International relations matter. Health care matters. Abortion rights matter. The environment matters. Science matters.

I’d like to move beyond “voting your conscience.” Wouldn’t it be nice if folks voted beyond their personal feelings and desires? Even “Ask not what your country can do for you but what you can do for your country” suggests a sameness between asker and country. It encourages the asker to do only for those who look like him.

This election, why not think less about yourself and more about the needs of someone less fortunate than you. Think about what the planet needs. Think about what future generations need. Think of how important it is to have educational and business opportunities for everyone. Think of someone who has been unfairly charged, overcharged or incarcerated because they are Black. Think of how marginalized the mentally ill are. Think of those living in poverty.

Let’s finally support those who need access to the same rights and opportunities as the white middle class. And when it’s time for us to work with the bully, let’s remember it is on each of us to demonstrate grace, patience, professionalism, and skill.

Thank you for reading. Vote blue. -Connie

About the Featured Photo: I habitually look forward to seeing “Father Stands in the Rain” by Alice Klock every morning when I come downstairs. Its meaning and emotional impact change for me every day. Here is another picture of it if you’d like a closer look.

No way in hell

Daily writing prompt

Are there things you try to practice daily to live a more sustainable lifestyle?

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I’m a road-trip kinda gal, but a few days ago Jesse asked if I wanted to fly to Boston with him. I was packed and ready to go faster than you can say Beantown. Though I had only been there once, briefly, ten years ago, I love Boston; plus I was eager to spend some time alone with my man.

It was a quick trip — we only had one full day in Boston. Jesse had to work and I was there to research The Quarter Millennial Experience which is a play I am writing. The QMX takes place on a commuter train in Boston so I visited places that would be familiar to the characters: the Freedom Trail, a train station, the North End (Boston’s Little Italy), the Holocaust Memorial, the Irish Famine Memorial, Chinatown and two museums. I spent a grand total of $15 — the price of museum admission.

Walking around Boston. I was headed to the Old State House which is the red brick building in the center.

While I walked around Boston and people-watched, Jesse had a site visit for a multimillion dollar show he will be working on next month. His work-day cost several thousands of dollars. When we met back at the hotel that afternoon, he said the information gathered at the site visit could have taken place over Zoom and a couple emails.

The difference in the way we “spent” our days is representative of how my husband and I spend our lives. He’s a spender; I’m not. He’s strategic and corporate; I’m artistic and have a short attention span. He’s the best at what he professionally does — always in demand. I’m…dispensable. After twenty years of marriage, we’ve given up trying to change each other, but we haven’t given up on each other.

It’s a simple thing to love someone and be loved back so sustaining our marriage is somewhat brainless for us. No one has ever tried to break us up and we both have an “us versus them” mentality about society. No way in hell are we going to let society win. Besides, marriage is a place to be fully human with another person. Where else can you say that is true?

I have to finish my chores, which includes weeding the vegetable garden, watering the plants with rain water I collected from the last storm, stirring the compost, and scrubbing the floors with hot earth-friendly soapy water. And I need to work on my play. While I do that, Jesse will be invoicing and working on estimates. When we’re done with our respective tasks, we’re headed to a nearby nature preserve for a hike which is something sustainable we always enjoy doing together no matter how different we are.

Thanks for reading! -Connie

P.S. I took the featured photo about a week ago at the forest preserve we will be visiting later today. The prairie is really coming to life and will be even more beautiful and colorful now through July. Here’s how to RSVP for a free public hike at that preserve.

I was that kid

Daily writing prompt

What’s the most delicious thing you’ve ever eaten?

View all responses

The most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten is seared maitake mushroom steak served with vegetable succotash. My husband and I recently went out to dinner. When I saw this listed in the entree section of the menu, I gasped with delight…and a little bit of horror. It was expensive: $28.

“Should I?” I asked Jesse. “I mean, we’re trying to save money. I mean…should I?”

“Yes.”

***

When I ordered the entree, the waiter shook his head and said, “That’s not a real steak, you know. It’s a mushroom.” I looked at him, smiled and intuitively pointed to “seared maitake mushroom steak” on the menu. I tapped on it for extra emphasis. “I know,” I told him. “That’s why I’m ordering it.”

Then he then looked me in the eyes, slowly blinked and walked away.

In that moment, I felt “seen.”

Not seen for who I think I am — a lady who knows her mushrooms — but seen the way most people see me — which is with little to no respect.

The waiter most likely serves hundreds of diners a week. He probably “sees” each person the second they are seated at his table. The menu isn’t that long — he can probably predict what each of his diners will order and how they will tip.

We all get sized up and thin-sliced every single time we leave the house.

***

Jesse and I recently took a trip to Boston. He had a site visit at the convention center and I was there to research my new play which is set in Boston.

Jesse travels quite a bit for work and knows his way around an airport. Though an efficient traveler, he does not like traveling. A few years ago he told me that traveling has turned him into “a pussy.” He said if was going to continue traveling for work, he was going to have to make some upgrades.

“Oh sure,” I said, not really knowing what “some upgrades” entailed. “Do whatever it takes.”

Soon he had apps downloaded, TSA Precheck, frequent flier points constantly accruing and was traveling in first class. He knows how to pack with one carry-on and one for the overhead bin. It’s rare when he has to check any baggage.

When I knew we would be flying to Boston, I (someone who rarely flies) was excited that I would finally get the chance to observe my man in action. What was Airport Jesse like? What would I learn about my husband of 20 years?

***

At the airport, he whisked me through TSA Precheck and into the United Club Lounge for a hot breakfast. When it was time to board, he leaned into my ear and said, “It’s about to get intense for about twenty minutes.”

I thought that meant our gate would be busy with people lining up to get on the plane. It was, but that’s not what he meant. He meant he would be busy intensely judging people.

Jesse is kind-hearted and fun-loving but also freely admits his cottage industry is “bein’ a dick.” It’s part of how he deals with constantly traveling and constantly dealing with people. We are all always vulnerable — we have to protect ourselves in whatever way makes sense to us. So now that you know that, he here’s how Jesse protects himself.

He proceeded to point out every person who was waiting at our gate:

That’s the old woman who pretends she doesn’t know what she’s doing so she can get to the front of the line.
There’s the cool guy who lines up with Group 1 even though he’s in Group 5. They’ll just let him on because he is always dressed hip.
That lady has too much shit and is going to cause a scene when they tell her she has to check her baggage. She’ll tell them she can’t because she has “breakables.”
Oh he’s the cocky businessman. He’s going to tell anyone who’ll listen how good he is at everything he does.
There’s Hung Over Sports Guy. He’s alone but there’s usually two or three other guys with him.

Then Jesse pointed off into the distance.

Somewhere out there is a rich douche who will board late. He won’t be able to put his bag directly over his seat and he’ll create a whole scene about it.
That skinny 20-something guy with the shitty backpack over there will just cram it in. He won’t be careful with anyone else’s belongings.
See that woman with the fuckin’ dog? Jesus Christ.
The loud, fat kid over there who’s who’s saying hi to everyone? No one wants to talk to him. By the way, I was that kid.

By this point he was almost breathless, but he wasn’t done.

Anyone wearing a fuckin’ mask is annoying.
Business partners — the worst — if they sit across the aisle from each other, they’re going to talk to each other in full voice for the whole fuckin’ flight — always men.
Female equivalent is the bridal party but they’re not on this flight, thank God.

By the time we boarded the plane, Jesse was exhausted from all that thin-slicing. We sat in first class because try as I have to influence him, Jesse will never embrace the Bohemian lifestyle. Within five minutes of sitting down, he fell asleep. I watched every single person he described walk by. His descriptions were spot on. When he woke up, he looked refreshed and downright jubilant.

***

Jesse is not necessarily happier when he travels in first class but he is slightly more comfortable. And instead of having to deal with people the whole flight, he just lets them walk by when he’s snoozing in first class.

***

The Bible says somewhere Judge not lest ye be judged. I don’t care if I’m judged. Neither does Jesse. And judging strangers is how we stay alive. I say go ahead: Judge away and rest easy.

Thanks for reading. -Connie

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I called the bureau and a bureaucrat answered – Day 1 at Pictured Rocks

My daughter Jocelyn is temporarily home from college so we squeezed in a hiking trip at Pictured Rocks National Lakeshore. It’s located in the upper peninsula of “The Great Lakes State.”

Day One

Halfway into our seven-hour drive from northern Illinois (Rockford) to the central upper peninsula (Munising, Michigan), I realized I forgot to print my park pass. That’s the one-page “proof of purchase” you buy online, print at home and place on your dashboard whenever you park in a Painted Rocks parking lot. If you don’t display your ticket in the national park, you could get fined or, I dunno, towed or fed to the mosquitoes.

Knowing we wanted to legally hike, I texted our motel to see if I could print the pass in their office but she said they didn’t have a printer. She suggested the local visitor’s bureau located a block from the motel.

I called the bureau and a bureaucrat answered. I told her I was looking for a business center to print my park pass.

“You kinda can’t print anywhere in town except here,” she said, “so it’ll cost $5.00.”

“I don’t mind paying,” I told her, “but it’s only one page.”

“Yeah,” she said. “You kinda can’t print anywhere else in town.” She said something about throwing in a map, which we didn’t need or want.

I generally don’t believe in time-travel, but when the bureaucrat told me I was going to have to pay up, I was instantly transported to Cornell College in the year 1991. I could suddenly my college roommate’s 20-year-old voice angry-whispering the following three words into my ear:

bamboozling bureaucratic bullshit!

I don’t know if she still does, but back in the day, Patty had a knack for alliteration. If she felt someone was trying to rip her off — like a tuition hike or an ATM fee — she’d mutter the triple-b with a disgusted look on her otherwise innocent face. Now, 33 years later and with more than 2000 miles separating us, I heard her glorious poetry ringing in my ears.

***

I know five dollars isn’t a lot of money but charging that much for a lousy piece of paper is a crappy way to welcome a visitor. I wondered how many other junk fees awaited us in Munising, Michigan.

***

As I drove, Jocelyn looked up the local library’s website on her phone and learned it would cost 15 cents to print one piece of paper. When we got there, we had the pass printed and tried to pay, but the librarian shooed away the five-dollar bill like it was a pesky fly.

“It would be silly to charge for a single piece of paper,” she said, proving once again that libraries are the cornerstone of humanity and librarians are the best people on the planet.

***

After we procured our park pass, we checked into our motel. It had two beds, a small bathroom and a Keurig for morning coffee. It offered air conditioning but, even better, the windows opened! It was the perfect place to clean up and rest after long, muddy hikes. After we unpacked, we hit the trails.

It was lightly raining and getting late but Munising is on the western “side” of the Eastern Time Zone so we had until 9:22 p.m. to safely hike! In Rockford, we would have only had until 8:18 p.m. This scientific shit blows my mind and if you told me the government has something to do with it, well, I’d probably die.

Anyway, first we hiked an easy half-mile through the Sand Point Marsh Trail, then up and into the North Country Scenic Trail and back. Because it was lightly raining, everything seemed to appear in grayscale (see unfiltered photo above) but once the rain let up, the colors came out in full.

A rainbow appeared and soon after we saw a Sandhill Crane family (the parents and their two colts) cruising through the woods. Zoom in to see the colts!

Not long after we saw the crane family, we encountered this lovely little waterfall.

The “tiny” waterfall on the North Country Scenic Trail whetted our
appetite for a “destination” waterfall so we ventured to Munising Falls next and hiked a short distance to this dramatic 50-foot waterfall. Even though this picture (below) was taken at 8:53 p.m., there was still plenty of daylight. Amazing.

Day One — Beary the Lede

We saw a black bear! Honestly, this part of Day One deserves to be at the tippy-top of this blog post, but sometimes ya just gotta bury — or in this case beary — the lede.

After we hiked a couple miles from Sand Point Beach, we drove to Munising Falls. That’s when we saw a bear on the forest side (the left side) of the road. I saw its massive black side and some branches moving up and down. Jocelyn saw its face! We instinctively and collectively held our breath as I stopped and backed up our Bronco (our vehicle, not an actual horse) so we could continue to admire it. This lasted several seconds before it realized it was being watched, turned away and “disappeared” into the woods. We exhaled (dramatically, because we’re dramatic people) and continued driving.

The movement of the bear and the surrounding bushes instantly reminded me of the bell hooks (she did not capitalize her name) poem
Appalachian Elegy.

We recite this beautiful poem at every Winter Solstice Poetry Caroling Festival so when I saw the bear “stamping down plants and pushing back brush” I instantly “saw” the poem at the same time I saw the bear. I love when poetry lights the way.

And I love that the bear let us see him, if only for a few seconds. Our hearts were pounding and full.

Thanks for reading about Day One. Have you been to Pictured Rocks? -Connie

Poetry Lovers, 
Here's the excerpt I remembered from the bell hooks "Appalachian Elegy" poem:

night moves
through the thick dark
a heavy silence outside
near the front window
a black bear
stamps down plants
pushing back brush
fleeing manmade
confinement
roaming unfettered
confident
any place can become home
strutting down
a steep hill
as though freedom
is all
in the now
no past
no present

P.S. It’s worth mentioning that Jocelyn works at her college’s music library and occasionally prints a page or two — for free — for students and professors. And I occasionally print multiple pages for fellow writers, also for free. Haven’t we all been in a printer crisis? If you are able, just print the damn pages!

Good morning, Rockford

Daily writing prompt

What are 5 everyday things that bring you happiness?

View all responses

When my husband wakes up in the morning, he slides open our bedroom curtains, peers through the window and says, “Good morning, Rockford!” I laugh every single time because, you see, Jesse hates Rockford and I sorta do too. But starting the day with a little irony is something that brings us both a little happiness. Recommend.

Four more very simple “everyday things” that bring us happiness include:

waving the other driver in
answering our email & texts with alacrity
speculating who –or what — our new next-door neighbor is (currently think it’s a out-of-state dude running an Airbnb)
hiking in or at nearby woods and prairies

Now here are some simple, everyday things that bring me happiness:

fresh water in clean bowls for our cats & dog
backyard wildlife
our Little Library
not using the Oxford comma
seeing what the Royal Family is up to

And here are five things that bring Jesse everyday happiness:

being nice to gruff people
his decibel meter (not a euphemism — he likes measuring sound levels)
socks that are especially snug around his arches
combing his beard while he talks to me or the kids
his backyard pond and goldfish

Things that don’t happen every single day, rather weekly or monthly, that bring us happiness include:

paying extra principal on the mortgage
finding a really insightful book, podcast, series or movie
playing Trivia or meditating on “interactive” Netflix
TSA pre-check
watching Wheel of Fortune

And here are a five happiness-inducing things that happen a few times a year:

when the price of gas goes down for a few days
when a new animal (wild or domesticated) visits our yard or house
camping and hiking in a different state
discovering a new recipe that our entire family loves
Cookie Dasher

The real happiness comes from:

each other
our kids
our extended family
theatre / performance art
our friends
our pets

But you already know that. Thanks for reading! -Connie

P.S. That is not our dog. He just hung out in our backyard for a few minutes. That’s Angelo on his way to school.

P.P.S. We also kinda love Rockford. That’s just how it goes.

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