—מגילת מלכה— This post marks the beginning of a new feature at beitmalkut.org and that is the inclusion of a tale that will take, I think, a very long time to tell. This is something I’ve been writing for my father. It started a number of years ago in time for him to read sections…
daily kaddish: for Dona laPlante
A little over a year ago, my friend Louise’s sister Dona died. My brother and I worked with Louise at Hardee’s. We all went to high school together. Suffice it to say, Dona’s death was way too young.
daily kaddish: supine
Chaz’s latest choreography will begin with me playing horn—probably something quite Kaddish-like, yet!—while lying flat on my back on the floor. I assured Chaz that this can be done, and tonight I thought I’d better make sure about that.
daily kaddish: all of them
After a long day at work, a run, and small dinner party that went late, I was exhausted. I’d had a great day full of life, and exhaustion replaced sadness for those no longer alive.
daily kaddish: a song of thanksgiving for failed relationships
A musical toast to an almost-Dad-in-law.
a kaddish of thanksgiving for failed relationships
Is it wrong to have fun writing a kaddish? This is a kaddish of Thanksgiving for failed relationships, and a toast to an almost-Dad-in-law. I can hear the ice clinking in our glasses even now.
daily kaddish: for Tina Wuelfing Cargile
I’ve been thinking about Tina lately because earlier this week I got together with her boss from back in the day, Shelly Orr Priebe.
daily kaddish: for the Apollo space program
On wanting to be an astronaut—and Johnny Cash—when I grow up.
the tzaddik and the automobile of art maintenance
Everybody knows about the tzaddik’s cars. They were fairly famous. His vehicles impersonated him. They imprinted on him. Everybody remembers particular stories about his cars. Only I don’t know all of the stories. And that really bugs me. I guess what I really want is to know everything. Collect everything. Every shred of memory. I…
daily kaddish: just straight on through
Tonight I played about a third faster than usual, with simple, unhistrionic rhythm. No frills–just the thrill of playing a very clean, well lubricated horn.