“Family isn’t an important thing, it’s everything.” –Michael J. Fox

How could such a thing have happened? Didn’t you have a clue you had family living near your house in Vermont?

It’s not like I just moved there, and that house had been part of my plans for bringing chamber music to Northern Vermont for a couple of decades. It just seems like too much serendipity to be believed. But I was there as the fateful unwinding happened, and so should have no trouble believing the magic of that moment.

Maybe fate is just what should be taken most seriously. I’ve always had a feeling that certain key events and specific traits are bound up and around my family’s history so tightly that they have a permanent place through time, and if that’s so, then when one least expects it those threads of existence will make themselves known without any particular intention. It’s the kind of thing that makes you feel both miniscule and massive at the same time.

I spent a few minutes chatting with a couple I didn’t know in the audience before our July chamber music concert this summer, trading names and origins as one does when far from home. I’ve always wished my family could set up a permanent life in Vermont, but have never accomplished more than a sporadic domicile there, except during the pandemic when we spent six blissful consecutive weeks. I’ve known of some cousins floating around in the ether who lived in Vermont from time to time, but I was never a part of their lives when Vermont was ‘home’, and in fact my vague recollection of that branch of the family is clouded over and hidden in a different generation with unfamiliar connections to other parts of the United States and work lives I knew nothing of.

As I talked with the couple who’d arrived early for the concert in July, a very strange shockwave traveled through the man who had been questioning me about my name. I could tell something had sparked a surprise he hadn’t been prepared for, and he announced that we must be cousins, as some of the names I’d been sharing with him were indeed the names of his cousins as well. It didn’t take more than two seconds for me to realize he was right as we began to unravel the tightly tangled web of serendipity that had led us to that room on that day and to each other. It was clear that music had been the key thread joining us to each other, and in fact I realized as I thought of it that there could not have been a more obvious way to bring so many members of my family, both living and long gone, together. Music was the binder for us all.

Since that fateful day this summer, the cousins have shared many stories and photographs and rounded out narratives for each other that have given us both much pleasure and a fuller sense of who we are and who we come from. It’s been our own ‘Finding Your Roots’ without the origin stories. That tangled ball of yarn that is our family is unwinding for us slowly and deliberately with the help of the music we all love so well. And as amazing as our discovery of ‘us’ has been and is, it’s made me more aware of how many of those ties that bind are out there for all of us, through the things that make us uniquely who we are.

I’ve always enjoyed unwinding tangled yarn and rewinding it in a neat ball for future use. This time has been no exception. With the help of my newly found cousin, I can feel how the musical outreach is going to expand our lives. I hope others who make up future audiences at our chamber music concerts will untangle connections for themselves, too. I think the musicians already know the power of this magic. Now it’s our turn to experience the connections, too.

“America is another name for opportunity. Our whole history appears like a last effort of divine providence on behalf of the human race.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

I never thought about it much. To say I took my existence as an American for granted is banging the ugly nail right on its head. Now, I’m embarrassed by my lack of appreciation for a way of life I wrongly assumed would be mine and ours forever. That false notion of lastingness for our Democracy was deeply rooted in the world I grew up in and brought my own children up in as well. Naturally, had I stepped back more often to take a broader view of the wonderful world of checks and balances, as well as the rules and laws so agonizingly fought for two-hundred-and-fifty years ago, I would have noticed how rare and distinct our system of government is more often. As it is with many of us who were spoiled by the beauty of what we had, I now spend every waking minute giving thanks for what it was and praying we can set the upended locomotive that is our current nightmare back on track.

To that end, I recently attended some wonderful classes and lectures that purported to explore “The American Imagination: Art and American Identity.” One of the lectures compared painters born to American parents in the United States, yet living most of their lives overseas as expats. The fact that they all chose specifically to retain their US Citizenship even though they never returned to live in the States was deemed “good enough” for them to qualify as ‘American artists’. But that didn’t work for me. What it was they prized about their American identities was never clarified, and another lecturer presenting American authors, specifically denied entry to those who lived mostly overseas and befriended mostly expats for, what I thought were obvious reasons.

And so that brought us to the lecture on uniquely American music, synthesizing and integrating rhythms, cultures, and the American vernacular as only George Gershwin, Chuck Berry and Brian Wilson could do. The reinvention of new music one might expect was only possible in a country invigorated by immigrants and integrated with many different styles and musical genres.

And so, I find myself thinking more clearly about what it means to be American through the eyes and ears of our artists. I wonder if we can retain our unique point of view if we lose our perspective. Will a massive reduction in immigration not affect our distinctive contribution to the arts? What do you think? I can feel that our American identity flows from the imagination supported by the structures that gave us the space and protection to let our vision thrive. And yes, when I hear that music steeped in the sounds and rhythms of the 19^th century through the present day I do rejoice in the fact that it makes me feel quintessentially AMERICAN. May it’s legacy continue!

“…government of the people, by the people, for the people, shall not perish from the earth.” Abraham Lincoln—Gettysburg Address, November 19, 1863

Full disclosure: I didn’t watch the State of the Union speech for the first time in my life. I didn’t even do much more than glance at some of the reviews the next day, and that more out of a duty to stay connected and informed than care or even curiosity. That particular address has often literally put me to sleep, no matter who the president was or what the times we were living in. But this one had even more of a promise to drug my powers of perception, and I found myself wondering how and why it would be so when its purpose is to transmit information.

Obviously, I thought about the narcissistic posturing, semi and total untruths I didn’t want to sit through, and even the length of the speech we’d been warned of in advance. That reminded me of the Gettysburg Address, famous for its two-minute brevity in contrast to the two-hour behemoth delivered before it by the then Governor of Massachusetts, Edward Everett. Arguably the most famous speech in American history, Lincoln’s was also the shortest. Aside from the gorgeous language and rhythmic cadences, I’m struck by how straightforward that speech is and how effective its message. Lincoln’s address is about the people who sacrificed their lives for the cause of liberty, and the people in his audience who had lost those they loved. Quite absolutely, it was not about himself but was about everybody else.

The lesson to be learned is now, and has always been, clear. Words matter, and people will listen when the message delivered is about them and not the speaker. In rereading Lincoln’s speech, one can’t miss the power of the message, the sense of having one’s hand held metaphorically by the President of the United States when an ultimate sacrifice had been made by those he didn’t know personally but identified with completely.

A speech glorifying the presenter instead of those addressed is always best avoided. And a suggestion: every time you find yourself overwhelmed by the self-aggrandizing nature of certain kinds of rhetoric, spend a few short minutes reading Lincoln’s address again. It is possible for a politician to make you feel good about yourself and your country again. I have mine printed out and posted on my office wall. I can’t imagine a happier reminder of greatness.

“The pessimist sees difficulty in every opportunity. The optimist sees opportunity in every difficulty.” – Winston Churchill

I have a number of friends who are writers, and a small number of those who are historians by profession. It’s no surprise, then, that they’ve been writing a lot lately about authoritarian movements and what we can learn from them. I’m always struck by how stunned they (and we) are to find ourselves at this turning point in the world’s best-known and most admired modern democracy. Yet with all the angst and gnashing of teeth, none of them seem to get past the questions about this new political construct and certainly offer no answers. I suppose it’s because we don’t know where we and our government are going. And I also suppose we’re not going to know that for quite a long time.

However,…even accepting that our politics are spinning out of control at the moment to include the politicians who seem to be making things worse, there are about 343 million ‘We, the people’ who still live and work here, many of whom have many generations of families who have called this democracy home for centuries. I’ve recently started thinking about all of the ‘we’ who have never imagined the horrifying scenario unfolding around us now. I’ve wondered if we can survive it, unprepared as most of us have been to deal with something other than a democracy. I’ve thought about the people we see in the news who’ve always lived with the authoritarian template around them as they work to go on with their daily lives. And that’s the heart of it. They do work to continue with the things that make life daily.

I got an email recently from a young musician friend announcing the birth of her long anticipated little boy. She and her ecstatic husband named him after a famous composer. It was the perfect example of what really matters in life. So that’s how they do it. The people who survive the crushing control of an authoritarian regime celebrate the everyday things of life: relationships, families, and beautiful things that have always sustained the human spirit. We need to celebrate our relationships and connections to the natural world. I have a feeling that the more we pay attention to each other, the stronger the fabric of our world will be. And of course, it never hurts to keep a flame of hope alive so you can see where the fabric needs mending.

Thanks for reading and staying connected,

The Unblocked! Writer

“Stars, hide your fires, Let not light see my black and deep desires,” William Shakespeare~ Macbeth

As usual, we turn to Shakespeare when we need to explain a universal truth better than we can do it ourselves. A quote from Macbeth has been circling around in my head every day for weeks now, ever since I learned of the U.S. Secretary of Health and Human Services’ decision to cancel research on mRNA vaccines.  I was watching an evening news program when I heard the announcement of the cancellation, and watched as the doctor being interviewed lamented the decision, explaining that there was no science to back it up, and in fact that the Secretary, while sounding knowledgeable, had actually said nothing.

It reminded me of a long time ago when I went on a trip for the bank I was working for. After I’d made a presentation about a fairly complex investment we’d been studying, the professor warned me not to get too enamored with the sound of my own voice in lieu of actually saying something of real importance. It was an embarrassing moment, but one that certainly hit home. I knew how to ‘sound good’ without really saying anything. I didn’t make that mistake again. But it would appear the doctor on the news program felt the U.S. SHHS had fallen into that same trap and no one had called him on his fault.

Recognizing the blunder, Shakespeare’s quote came to mind, expanding out in my memory to include its introduction, “a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Ah, yes, the Bard does it again, hitting the nail dead center as he described our current moment in history as if he’d written it for one of his plays. I think maybe a return to Shakespeare now would help us see where we are and what’s coming more clearly. We like to say we’ve never seen anything like these times before, but apparently, someone has, and he called it what it was: “a tale told by an idiot.” The key would seem to be recognizing it for what it is.

“Life’s under no obligation to give us what we expect.”~ Margaret Mitchell from Gone with the Wind.

The ominously memorable line from the Hollywood version of ‘Gone with the Wind’ placed its male protagonist, Rhett Butler in an unforgettable scene. How unthinkable it was that anyone could deliver such a blatantly unsympathetic line to the beautiful, distraught leading lady. Her world had come crashing down in flames as the Civil War burned out the remnants of the Old South leaving her bereft of everything that had made her life what it was. Nothing would be the same from the ruined land to the crumbling values, and the thought that there were people who didn’t care was extraordinary. But we also sided with Rhett as he moved out the door into the devastation that awaited, feeling it was time to move on and start something new.

I have often wondered as I think about that last scene of ‘Gone with the Wind’ how it really felt to be living it, having no idea what would come next and whether or not this country could put itself back together again. The devastation must have seemed insurmountable, much as it does to many of us today. And there were plenty of people my age then who felt a sadness as I do now because they doubted they’d live long enough to see things in the country put right again. How do we take the best of what we have without clinging too long to things we need to get rid of? I’m amazed that the currents of destruction ran through our society over the past ten years and I never really saw them or understood how they’d undermine the integrity of our democracy. But I see them now.  Everything we knew has been swept away, gone with the wind, and taking our old way of life with it.

So how do we hold onto the things that are precious while releasing those that proved to be without value. Deciding what to keep and what to throw away will be key to how we come out of this difficult time. And no matter how long it takes to turn around, it still matters that we give a damn. No matter how challenging the future looks, we don’t have to burn our bridges.

How do you feel about burning bridges for change? Please share your thoughts with the Unblocked! Writer

Tyranny is the deliberate removal of nuance—Albert Maysles

I’m often intrigued by the derivation of unusual expressions that have become common in our contemporary speech. I remember being amazed at learning where ‘a wet blanket’ came from, which I’ll leave up to you to search out for yourself. You have AI and Google now, neither one of which existed when I first got curious about this kind of linguistic creativity. But this return to probing the English language was rekindled for me recently while watching a show about warfare at the turn of the 20^th century. One of the poor soldiers announced that he would ‘go over the top’, meaning he’d leave his trench to join the fighting. It struck me uniquely because I’d just been expressing my dislike for a performance I’d seen which was so ‘over-the-top’. I realized that all the excesses of that war-time reference were completely appropriate to the presentation I’d seen and rejected. I’ve often commented on being uncomfortable with writing that describes some kind of outrageous behavior that felt unrealistic to me. But why should that matter? I finally figured it out the other night when I was in a 92Y lecture about the work of America’s quintessential composer, Irving Berlin.

These lectures are fabulously engaging and there’s much to learn. But some of the most fun we have is after it’s over, when we have a Q&A with the lecturer that goes on as long as we want it to—as long as we have something we want to say. The other evening, we’d been presented with four different singers (“leading ladies”) who inhabited the starring role of Annie Oakley in different productions. Which one did we like best and why? It was not an easy choice because they were so different, and all thoroughly capable. But I preferred Irving Berlin’s choice initially. I felt one of them was too ‘over-the-top’ in her mannerisms, and that made it harder for me to enjoy the music or even pay attention to it. Later, the lecturer introduced us to a live performance he’d seen in modern times with a country-western star in the title role, and that performance hit the target dead-center! Why? Because the mannerisms, though far from subtle, were much more nuanced without losing any of the color Berlin’s music and lyrics called for. With that less over-the-top performance, the music was still the star, and that’s the whole point.

This discovery made me realize why I’ve always shied away from flamboyance in art of all kinds. If the point of a work of art is about the writing, the dancing, the music, then anything that steals the show is doing the art and artist a disservice. There’s always plenty of room to make a point without going over-the-top. Too bad the soldiers didn’t have that choice!

How do you feel about flamboyance in art? All opinions are welcome.

The Unblocked! Writer

“The best protection any woman can have … is courage.” —Elizabeth Cady Stanton

How often do we try to imagine ourselves in a situation where others were challenged by the fluctuations of life and somehow stood up to them? We ask, could I possibly have been as courageous as they were? Would I have fought as they did to get through each day with my values intact?

This is why most of us who write get such a thrill from it, but my latest historical novel has taken a new twist I wasn’t prepared for. It has two protagonists living one hundred years apart, with one finding she’s become so identified with the other that she starts living in the earlier era in her imagination and fears she’ll be trapped there forever.

It’s not a unique premise but isn’t one I’d ever written before. As my modern-day protagonist gets pulled deeper into the world of the early twentieth century she begins to understand what it was like to fight for recognition of women in world-class athletics of that era, and for an autonomous life in general. She thought she understood the protagonist of the earlier time, finding out almost too late that she had no idea. And as she became more entangled in the other character’s existence she feared she’d never escape, much as the woman from that earlier time had struggled to live for herself.

Come back when the novel is finished to find out if self-determination was likely or even possible under the constraints of early 1920’s America. What would you have done under the same limitations? I hope you’ll reserve your copy of the book that explores life in the early days of women’s world-class tennis when the men paid no attention, and the tournament promoters controlled the women on and off the courts. I hope it will expose you to a situation you never knew existed and one that introduces you to a whole new kind of courage.

“Family patterns—like family secrets—repeat themselves.” ~ Iyanla Vanzant

There has been a rash of books lately on the topic of family secrets. Why? Your guess is as good as mine, but I’m sure part of it has to do with the fact that children weren’t included in a lot of family news when I was growing up. There was a Chinese Wall between children and their parents then, suggesting adults thought kids were invading their privacy and didn’t ‘need to know’. That left the potential for surprises in later life, often threatening the foundation of family structures when the truth, or at the very least revelations came out. The epidemic of memoirs over the past decade has certainly served to expose many of those secrets, from the personal to the political, but I always felt a bit left out, as it seems there was very little I didn’t know about my family. Being the last of five girls, I sense my parents gave up the effort to hide anything from me, probably accepting what they didn’t tell me, my sisters surely would.

And thus, it was shocking when I recently had a family secret revealed via the internet. It was my husband’s family, but someone I was close to from my early twenties, and so all the more confounded by the length of time the secret remained hidden. I suppose something like that could only have happened in the age of social media, which was how I was found by the writer tracking down information on my relative-by-marriage. My talk with him eventually clarified much for us both and led to a plan on my part to turn the long-hidden events into a narrative aided by the connection of fiction. And so, that is what I have started to work with, an amalgam of truth and imagination to bring this woman from the turn-of-the-century back to life. I couldn’t do it without the help of the hidden secret recently revealed by someone I never knew.

I hope you’ll check back to find out how this reveal is progressing during the coming year. After all, what good is a secret if you can’t share it with somebody? This one was hiding in plain sight, and I look forward to disclosing it step by step in my next novel. Have a happy New Year, and I look forward to connecting with you in 2025. After all, reading and writing are the best ways to share our thoughts, so I look forward to doing that with you.

Your friend,

The Unblocked! Writer

Eventually everything connects – people, ideas, objects. ~ Charles Eames

Finding myself still struggling to work my way up from the depts of the recent election, I realized recently how jealous I was of one of my favorite writers now gone. Ursula K. Le Guin wrote in a 2008 essay in Harper’s Magazine titled, Staying Awake, about feeling ‘amused contempt’ for ‘the delusion of tyrants’. The essay, subtitled, notes on the alleged decline of reading celebrates the power of the meeting of minds made possible by art’s connections. Oh, how I wish I had the strength and confidence to feel ‘amused contempt’ instead of desperate despair for the tyrants in our lives right now. Le Guin’s essay gave me that electric jolt, a reminder that relying on the arts, and specifically writing and writers in difficult times can be our salvation. How others deal with difficulties helps us all to live with our demons. The outreach of one mind to another is why art matters.

But that wonderful phrase of Le Guin’s, the delusion of tyrants, took me to such an interesting place in my own mind, realizing that so many other people on this planet have lived continuously in a world run by the despots of destruction and never known a morning where they woke without it in a free world. This feeling of butterflies in one’s stomach and knowing one must live in a country no longer living up to what many of us thought was its original promise of freedom is the dominant one around the world today. We are joining everybody else, instead of having the pride of knowing we live in a unique country, well, to be proud of. How odd to be this old and only just fully realize how spoiled we’ve been.

And yet, as Le Guin said, we still know who we are and can continue to view what’s going on around us with ‘amused contempt’ while we forge ahead in a way that makes sense to us, our friends and our families. We connect with the thoughts of people who read our writing, or see our paintings, or hear our music (my second most favored method of connecting), and there is no way to legislate that miraculous connection of humanity. The new world of publishing makes everything possible. What can be written can be read, and yes, one would need to be delusional to think that reading can be stopped, especially in our new world. Take this blog, for example. It’s just another way for us all to share ideas, and no delusional tyrants can take those connections away from us.

I wish you all a New Year filled with vibrant possibilities and piles of wonderful books, essays and articles to expand your thoughts. Don’t stop reading or sharing with others, and don’t forget to listen. Ever.

Your friend, The Unblocked! Writer