It is difficult, wresting oneself from 2020. It seemed that the election and beginning of vaccine time had gone a long way toward a New Year. Then the attempted coup by ‘terrorists are us’ and the vaccine muddle kept us smack dab in the middle of fear and chaos far into January.

So I am making today, February 1, 2021, ‘the first day of the rest of my life.’

And this is Now. A smart and decent old guy is in the White House, a smart and brave black and brown woman is his second in command, a bright and powerful young black poet is a beam of hope across the rational land and, while the nazis and klaners and supremacists and stupid and power-hungry aren’t going away, at least for the moment, they’re being held at bay…though barely.

I am moving forward on MY first day of spring. Family is coming to visit, one or two at a time, poked, masked and distanced; North Fourth has a future (almost for sure); I love my house; and we’re once again planning for the Big Trip To Africa—at Christmas. And more trips besides.

I still have a final farewell 2020 post coming up. Tomorrow. So here’s to Tomorrow…only a day away (written by Thomas Meehan)

The sun’ll come out


So ya gotta hang on

‘Til tomorrow

Come what may

Tomorrow! Tomorrow!

I love ya Tomorrow!

You’re always

A day

A way


What a strange week. Energetic. Writing. Picking bedroom paint colors. Time at North Fourth thinking it will be part of our lives again? All good…except that the Sleaze just won’t leave the building. I shouldn’t be nervous. I think. Should I? DT is like the blob…devouring any good in his path…and can’t be destroyed. But he must be ultimately, mustn’t he?…or is that me, age 8, ‘whistling in the dark’ on my way home from Audrey’s house so the Minnesota wild things won’t get me? Little over two weeks and our most frightening national nightmare had damn well better be OVER.

Back to my summary of Covid year…I felt compelled to do a second summer album so I could post pictures of my second favorite activity (remember Bosque with Steve was the first). That would be a spurt of baking quick breads. Banana, Strawberry, Peach, Cottage Cheese Walnut…they were beautiful and I loved giving them to friends. However the thrill of giving soon wore off since I could not even sample them now that I am seriously gluten-free. I admit to scraping the bowl for the last of the dough though. It was delicious.

The summer was fine I think. I have always traveled in the summer though. Always. To places near and far. This summer I was not out of Albuquerque so it seems like a kind of nervously, blurry, non-entirely unpleasant time. So I think this will do it for summer 2020.



The Year of Living Dangerously,’ otherwise known as 2020 has unfolded in three stages. Spring and North Fourth closing. Gradually tapering off friendly full-face contact and checking out things like grocery delivery. Getting nervous but not too…at first. I remember wearing masks in public fairly early and not participating in group activities (but then I never did that anyway). Anyway summer came along, and masks were always on outside of one’s ‘pod.’ The exception was eating outdoors at Flying Star or Farm and Table for that rare treat. A few of us laid-off North Fourthers were volunteering to pay the light bill and make sure the Center hadn’t been invaded by Texans or zombies or mice. My apartment was feeling pretty small but life was made livable by weekly walks in the Bosque with Steven and sometimes a dog. It was something of a shock to realize that the pandemic was not going to just go away…we should have known that if Sleazy T claimed something would happen the very opposite would occur. It wasn’t that I thought what DT said had any validity, it was just that … well if we can go to the moon surely we can make something as insignificant in size as a virus go away. And then I remembered we don’t actually go to the moon anymore and we can’t even support a rail system adequately or enforce regulations that would keep dangerous airplanes out of the sky…or keep everyone fed………………..

Anyway here’s the first look at summer: I’ve posted a number of these photos before but remember this is a retrospective.




2020 was what is known as a mixed blessing wasn’t it? Millions have died from Covid; even more millions have survived it with little impact on their lives. Most of us through common sense, fear, and the wherewithal to follow reasonable guidelines haven’t contracted it. The world environmentally, socially, economically, and educationally is in a probably-unstoppable free fall but then that happened before Covid even reared its nasty head. In a few places, including the US, newly elected leaders of the rational, intelligent sort may slow the velocity of the plunge but it’s unlikely they can stop it.

This post is a review of my Covid year. A look back, mostly pictorially, about the bad and good of 2020 for me. I am almost embarrassed to say it wasn’t that bad considering the death, economic destruction, and sheer fear and loneliness so many have experienced. But if we’re going to be honest we must admit that there are numbers of us who have come through it with a minimum of discomfort, and not a small number who have prospered (after all this is a capitalist world and there is no tragedy too great not to make a buck out of it…).

Oh yeah…about me. A review. So I lost my job…a pretty damn big deal to me with my modest but satisfactory income dropping substantially. Fortunately the capitalists (i.e. money-grubbing soulless plutocratic frequently-Republican swine) haven’t wrested every modicum of democratic-socialism from the land [yet] and I’ve had unemployment insurance to help me through with no loss of coffee, yogurt, toilet paper, or streaming services) And my job in the performing arts sector may return.

I have missed face-to-face hanging out time with family and friends. I have felt anxious (more politically-anxious than pandemic threatened) and tired of being careful and sad for missed travel and seriously pissed-off that, with only a limited number of years left to live, one of them is blighted by a virus and by a cult of creeps.

There’s this though. I began the year living in a pleasant and comfortable but definitely-small apartment; I ended the year, paying less rent, in a most attractive and spacious townhouse because of a thoughtful son and daughter-in-law. The process of moving into and happily occupying a new space has not only productively consumed time but has also given me space-to-pace on the bad days!

This is all to say…I am okay and here are the pictures to prove it.





This was going to be a positive happy-new-year post because I had intended to write my last post ever about Sleazy T. on the 31st…but did not. So here’s one final small diatribe against one of the nastiest and most ineffectual leaders in human history (thank god he was ineffectual or he might be nearer the top of that nasty list). As cult leaders go however he was and is dangerous enough…and the sale of Kool-Aid in this country has never been higher. But it is a new year. 2021. He’s going.

Yes. 2021. It is here. Oh sure, it’s only two days in…but I stayed up until midnight, which I have not bothered to do in recent years, just to make sure 2020 threw itself out the door and over the cliff as promised. Now we only have one more foul presence (never mind Covid for a minute)  from which to rid ourselves and we are (almost) positive that will happen on January 20th.

With 2020, the ending came not because of a miracle but because Julius Caesar altered what went before (and then Pope Gregory tinkered with that) and … voila … Happy-New-Year. With the other loathsome specter still haunting the White House there are a few more steps to go before its departure. If you have ever lived in the country and had a dog, you probably remember the occasional skunk encounters and how hard it was to get rid of the smell…was bathing Rover in tomato juice one of the methods? Sleazy T’s like that isn’t he? Whatever the laws, the courts, various legislative bodies do, the stink’s still strong. But soon…and if we need to fill the Reflecting Pool with tomato juice and toss him in…where do I send my contribution.

Come to think of it…how about we fill it with Kool-Aid and welcome DT and fans over for a swim…and pull the plug and all will be sucked down into eternal denial.

I did not realize until recently how thoroughly the Sleaze frightened and sickened and embarrassed me. It came to me a few weeks ago that long months of my first waking sensations being dread and depression were easing up…and that the pandemic wasn’t the primary reason for them.

Please Dear Freya…make the bad man and his friends go away for good. Thank you. Amen.

The next post will be filled with photos representing the happy moments of 2020…and truthfully (even though it feels almost awkward to say it) there were many…well quite a few anyway.




I have been cautious, anxious, sometimes worried. I’ve had moments of fear when I feel at all unwell. But the virus hasn’t really terrified me personally. NOW. I. AM. SCARED. I am afraid it will get me the week or the day or the hour before my vaccine is available. Silly. I’m doing everything I should…just keep on being careful…it will be fine…I say.

I am trying to analyze this burst of anxiety and it is not so very surprising. It’s that light at the end of the damn tunnel, isn’t it? I’m writing again. My job may well be back eventually. Travel going on the calendar. And all I can think is please do not let me screw up now. It would be so very annoying to die with the world on the way to better…

Okay. There. I’ve said it. Already I’m less afraid. I’m watching “Mystery Road” on Acorn and my friend dropped off a piece of Clementine cake made with almond flour. And I’ve been writing all day. Life really is worth living so please do not breathe on me.

What is it they say about darkness and dawn?



Is it three years since I started writing my travel memoir? No, I think it’s at least five. And so many different outlines, iterations, names, deadlines. So the pandemic came along and I was furloughed from my job. A perfect time to write. Or not. Why not? I’m comfortable, healthy, lots of time on my hands…. But the writers’ block symptoms that all writers experience every now and then: distraction, avoidance, lack of focus, stress, frustration seem to have  grown exponentially. That’s the bad news.

There’s good new finally…please let it last. Just lately, now that I’m all moved into my comfortable new house and have created some cozy writing nests, my muse seems to have returned to my shoulder for at least part of most days.

My book is drafted. Raggedly drafted but the base of everything I want to include is there. There are problems. The first one is that I’ve written double the number of words I can possibly include. An online writers’ guide claims that only a writer of JK Rowling’s repute could get anything published with the number of words I have…. You can see the editing job ahead of me.

There is one other problem. I seem to have two different stories/themes going on. That is large. Who knows what I will do?

Now however it is Friday night which no longer means what it use to…nevertheless that pleasurable feeling of having a weekend ahead hasn’t disappeared yet…and hopefully I’ll be back at work before it is all gone. I’ll watch PBS news shows for awhile tonight and then an hour or so with an Australian detective show on Acorn, and finally I’m going to bed with Barack Obama and a Sudanese detective. It’s how I travel and deal with politics these days. The Obama book is really fine. I will download Michelle’s book to Audible this weekend so I can hear her story as I walk my three to six miles next Tuesday at the gym. So I’m okay. Life is goodish. We have Joe, Kamala and a vaccine. Let’s not get impatient I say to myself.




This post is about Work. All work but mostly my work. I looked up some work quotes to enjoy.

The beginning is the  most important part of work. Plato

I have realized how much I like to work…not puttering about the house, raking the leaves, or making better lunches. Not that those aren’t good pursuits, but for me they are vastly more enjoyable when you must do them after work (the paid/’gotta get up take a shower and drive to the office’ kind) or on weekends.

I put my heart and my soul into my work, and have lost my mind in the process. Vincent Van Gogh

At this point in time, I and three of my colleagues remain connected to North Fourth Art Center.  Although furloughed since last June and for some months into the future, we haven’t gone away. Performing art centers will not be open for awhile but with the advent of a soon-to-be-available vaccine we have discovered a new enthusiasm for bringing our center back to life. Even, as our new President says, ‘building (programming) back better!’

He who seeks rest finds boredom. He who seeks work finds rest. Dylan Thomas

In fact, today, one of us had a zoom chat with a performing arts leader about possibilities for the future of our N4th Theater and another is writing a grant for a visual arts/gallery program representing Albuquerque’s glorious artistic diversity. There are lights at the end of this long dark rocky stifling tunnel.

Organizing is what you do before you do something, so that when you do it, it is not all mixed up. A. A. Milne

North Fourth Art Center has hosted a unique arts school for adults with developmental disabilities; an innovative theater program, including an exciting international contemporary dance festival; and a series of visual arts exhibits that have represented every community, ethnicity, and ability. I cannot wait for our Grand Reopening…the North Valley’s very own Art Center…the northside hub around which arts activities swirl and artists grow and flourish. And “Yes we can. Yes we can do it” (I’m reading Obama’s biography right now and thinking ‘yes we all can’ get over four years of hate and dysfunction and a pandemic and make art again.

Work is much more fun than fun. Noel Coward

Here are a few photos from before…I may have posted them already but I want to remind myself and you all how good it was at work. And how you’ll be able to join us again before to long.


Meant to write in November. The virus that is the crazy-as-a-loon (Minnesota national bird and a Minnesotan expression for the craziest of the crazy) president and the virus that is a virus overwhelmed my best intentions. New resolution. December. Daily. Upbeat. New President, new vaccine, new house, new travel plans. Here’s a post I started the other morning at 3 when I couldn’t sleep because…

At 3am this morning I decided it was time to ‘go back to my future.’ Through blogging, determination, hope and avocado toast. The future where I work and write and travel. The last few months have been surprisingly good however (at least when I’ve blocked out the rest of the world)… well-spent in moving from my nice-enough little apartment to a fancy townhouse. Not fancy-fancy, but by my lifetime of apartment-dwelling standards it could be called ‘moving on up’ Well we’re movin on up/To the east side/To a deluxe apartment in the sky/Movin on up/To the east side/We finally got a piece of the pie.(You do remember The Jeffersons, right?)

Long story short, it goes like this. My Albuquerque kids wanted to invest their money in a property. Son Steve fell in love with a friend’s for-sale townhouse. Being an excellent son he decided…killing two birds… he could offer his ageing mom a really nice place to live at an extremely modest rate and have a renter who would likely never throw another wild party in her entire life.

So here I am, 3am, in a rather elegant high-ceilinged, spacious, fire-placed living room surrounded by my finest IKEA tables, second-hand couch and chair, heirloom rocker, trunk and chests, and giant coffee table (especially handcrafted by my bro to allow my journals, notebooks, travel docs, manuscripts, Sunday papers, assortment of pens, clips, eye drops, vitamins and coffee cup to stay nearby). My giant gold, rust and black wall hanging acquired in 1999 from a street vendor in Abidjan, Cote d’Ivoire is finally back up after many years of closet dwelling.

Oh yeah, and a garage, dining room, atrium (yes, really), patio… pleasant neighborhood halfway between Whole Foods and my gym. I feel like I should adopt a refugee family and four dogs…. Or upgrade my Costco sweat pants and ragged cashmere sweater from Kathmandu. I know…too many commercial mentions and traveler name-dropping.

End of December 2020 Blog Post #1. They’ll probably get better.


New WordPress format…forgive how it looks…have I mentioned how much I loath new new ‘forced’ formats?

I am a writer and therefore always concerned with ‘plot,’ (the plan, scheme, or main story of a literary or dramatic work). If I think of my life as a dramatic work…and in 2020 isn’t everyone’s life a drama-rich work?…than I must pay attention to the plot, mustn’t I? Increasingly it seems the Marjorie-plot is getting harder to find…in fact, I’m almost positive I have lost it: to lose one’s ability to understand or cope with what is happening)
In case you’ve been away…in another galaxy perhaps…we humans are murdering our one and only planet; the U.S. has a greedy and certifiably-crazy narcissistic sociopath for a president; and then there’s that silly pandemic killing a whole bunch of people all over the world. Closer to home: I am moving, a happy move but nevertheless nerve-wracking; my California son who was coming to help has a wrecked knee; my friend’s sister’s house burned down in a Colorado fire; perhaps my art center will never come back to life; the big amazing glorious African journey of 2021 is looking iffy; the book I’m writing is a huge chaotic mess … and did I mention I’m old and at the poorish end of the 99%.
Can you see how my life’s ‘plot’ might disappear?
Phew…feel much better. Got all that out of my system. Anyone who reads this may legitimately bill me for therapy services.
Up at 4am…harder to sleep these days/nights/whatever isn’t it?  I’m going to try, for therapeutic purposes, to blog-journal each day. I do that anyway in endless calendar books and diaries so may as well utilize a form requiring me to waste time searching the thesaurus for just the right adjective to describe my sense of the day’s hopelessness. And I’ll need to take just the right photo to accompany my post. 
For now…I looked up poems about bafflement…because I am baffled (totally bewildered or perplexed)  by everything…the world, my country, me. Here’s one that popped up by TS Eliot. Good enough for me, especially since I’m often self-medicating with crime and mystery novels: Macavity: The Mystery Cat. I WISH I HAD A CAT. 
Macavity's a Mystery Cat: he's called the Hidden Paw--
For he's the master criminal who can defy the Law.
He's the bafflement of Scotland Yard, the Flying Squad's despair: For when they reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there! Macavity, Macavity, there's no on like Macavity, He's broken every human law, he breaks the law of gravity.
His powers of levitation would make a fakir stare, And when you reach the scene of crime--Macavity's not there! You may seek him in the basement, you may look up in the air-- But I tell you once and once again, Macavity's not there! Macavity's a ginger cat, he's very tall and thin; You would know him if you saw him, for his eyes are sunken in.
His brow is deeply lined with thought, his head is highly doomed; His coat is dusty from neglect, his whiskers are uncombed.
He sways his head from side to side, with movements like a snake; And when you think he's half asleep, he's always wide awake.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macavity, For he's a fiend in feline shape, a monster of depravity.
You may meet him in a by-street, you may see him in the square-- But when a crime's discovered, then Macavity's not there! He's outwardly respectable.
(They say he cheats at cards.
) And his footprints are not found in any file of Scotland Yard's.
And when the larder's looted, or the jewel-case is rifled, Or when the milk is missing, or another Peke's been stifled, Or the greenhouse glass is broken, and the trellis past repair-- Ay, there's the wonder of the thing! Macavity's not there! And when the Foreign Office finds a Treaty's gone astray, Or the Admiralty lose some plans and drawings by the way, There may be a scap of paper in the hall or on the stair-- But it's useless of investigate--Macavity's not there! And when the loss has been disclosed, the Secret Service say: "It must have been Macavity!"--but he's a mile away.
You'll be sure to find him resting, or a-licking of his thumbs, Or engaged in doing complicated long division sums.
Macavity, Macavity, there's no one like Macacity, There never was a Cat of such deceitfulness and suavity.
He always has an alibit, or one or two to spare: And whatever time the deed took place--MACAVITY WASN'T THERE! And they say that all the Cats whose wicked deeds are widely known (I might mention Mungojerrie, I might mention Griddlebone) Are nothing more than agents for the Cat who all the time Just controls their operations: the Napoleon of Crime!