Well, I think this is a great theme for this Thanksgiving week (and not at all “cheesy” Helen)!

I knew my song immediately…well, my first song anyway.

You know when that question shows up “If you could have ONE album to play while stranded on a desert island, which one would it be?” This comes from my choice. Don Henley’s Inside Job. His opus. His Therapy album. His masterpiece.

This song gave me great comfort when a 25 year long business (and friendship) partnership ended. I had to fight hard to not focus just on the loss, and move into gratitude.

I hope the video works. It is the only one I could find of Don Henley actually singing

My Thanksgiving   (copy and paste and wait just a second…it will start)


My Thanksgiving
Lyrics by Google Play

A lot of things have happened
Since the last time we spoke
Some of them are funny
Some of ’em ain’t no joke
And I trust you will forgive me
If I lay it on the line
I always thought you were a friend of mine

Sometimes I think about you
I wonder how you’re doing now
And what you’re going through

The last time I saw you
We were playing with fire
We were loaded with passion
And a burning desire
For every breath, for every day of living
And this is my Thanksgiving

Now the trouble with you and me, my friend
Is the trouble with this nation
Too many blessings, too little appreciation
And I know that kind of notion¡ªwell, it just ain’t cool
So send me back to Sunday school
Because I’m tired of waiting for reason to arrive
It’s too long we’ve been living
These unexamined lives

I’ve got great expectations
I’ve got family and friends
I’ve got satisfying work
I’ve got a back that bends
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving

Have you noticed that an angry man
Can only get so far
Until he reconciles the way he thinks things ought to be
With the way things are

Here in this fragmented world, I still believe
In learning how to give love, and how to receive it
And I would not be among those who abuse this privilege
Sometimes you get the best light from a burning bridge

And I don’t mind saying that I still love it all
I wallowed in the springtime
Now I’m welcoming the fall
For every moment of joy
Every hour of fear
For every winding road that brought me here
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving

For everyone who helped me start
And for everything that broke my heart
For every breath, for every day of living
This is my Thanksgiving

Written by Don Henley, Jai L. Winding, Stanley Lynch • Copyright © Universal Music Publishing Group




I saw Arrival last night and am still reeling. Perfect timing for this post!

Serendipity Seeking Intelligent Life on Earth

After months in a cryo-tube, they finally woke me. What a headache! Sheesh. And holy moly, I really had to go to the bathroom, after which I needed not so much a shower as a sandblasting. That cryo gunk is sticky and it gets into places you just wouldn’t … well, maybe you would … believe.


Then there was food. Never in my entire life have I wanted to eat a starship, including the cargo. Talk about an appetite. Not just me. Everyone had just been wakened at the same time and we all felt hollow.

T.S. Eliot was spinning in my head:

We are the hollow men
We are the stuffed men
Leaning together
Headpiece filled with straw. Alas!
Our dried voices, when
We whisper together
Are quiet and meaningless
As wind in dry grass
Or rats’ feet over broken glass
In our dry cellar

Shape without form, shade without…

View original post 363 more words

B & P Shadorma & Beyond: Hallelujah

To all his fans…

Lorraine's frilly freudian slip

I was deeply moved by the passing of Leonard Cohen. The poetry of his lyrics are markers of my life. This is not the poem I intended to write. Perhaps this week I will be able to compose the poem I wish to submit. Think of this as a place holder. But I just felt like I had to “say” something.

in peace above

he taught us hallelujah

he understood

that love was good

but never easy

within his words

where flights of birds

others loved his songs

and played them on

within his hallelujah

the poetry, it never stopped

each hour held another crop

his voice was smoke and whiskey deep

like a blind man, into songs he’d creep

just like another hallelujah

I never met, nor saw the man

never grasped him by the hand

to tell him how his words so moved me

all the tears he…

View original post 67 more words