Hey ho!


It feels like every time I send you a watch.listen.snack. email I’m fighting an uphill battle with laughter and light. The world right now, under the thumb of SCOTUS, seems frightening. In the + column, I am proud to have my abortion story up at The Today Show newsletter. In it I talk about my mother’s inability to get an abortion in 1961 and the hardships she suffered, right alongside my ability to get an abortion in 1988 and how that access made me a better woman, wife and mother. (My title for the piece was “Abortion: A Love Story”) Here’s my mother and father, in 1959.


In yoga this morning I came up with the idea that I need an FOL: Fortress of Light. How about you? We only get one go round, thus I’m going to fight hard to make it happy enough.

Did you catch this op-ed in the NYTsHow I Build a Good Day When I’m Full of Despair at the World  I’ll admit, she almost lost me when she spoke about drinking her coffee and staring out at the lake—without recognizing her privilege. A lot of us stare out at our neighbor’s house, or cars parked on the street. If you can overlook her the blind spot, there’s good advice. Indeed the world is both terrible and beautiful.

How’s this little gem for your FOL? Ringtone Dance Moves.  I know! And then there was a piece in the times about taking up a hobby as a way to front load for joy, and I thought, maybe I should make my own dance moves? My own ringtones? Do you have a hobby? Is it a little weird? Do tell!



w.l.s. – kill your inner heckler



Ten years ago, in the midst of chemo for breast cancer, I struggled to find joy and laughter. Hence we went to a lot of unmemorable stand-up comedy. But there was this one guy, super schlumpy, oily, cruddy teeth, a large belly, a funny little fedora, a t-shirt that forgot its job was to dress a human not a mattress, super smart and hilarious. Eddie Pepitone stayed with me. Yes, because I laughed a lot, but also because he hit some really hard truths about the way we treat ourselves.

I wish I was you,” he says to the audience early in. “I wish I was you because I am told that I am so funny and I can’t enjoy it. To me it just my horrific life that I am giving to you. But for you, this is terrific!

And it was. At the end of his 25 minutes or so he talked about how he’s always heckled and he got to thinking, what would it be like if the heckler really knew him, knew his tender spots. Then he put down his mic and stepped into the audience to heckle himself. It was funny. And then it was hard:

Why do you eat pastry in the middle of the night?
Napoleons are daytime food!
You never floss!
Why the hell are you such a slob?
Why doesn’t your mother love you?
You never lived up to your potential!

The audience got quiet. We were witnessing someone in pain. I mean, it was a performance, but it also felt real. And, the thing was, everyone has some part of that pain, right?

Everyone in the room got it. I think that getting it, recognizing it, made us all recast our inner critic as a crummy heckler. Someone we don’t have to listen to. Some voice that’s just trying to ruin our fun.


Hey ho!

Here in Portland, along with springtime scraps of blue sky, we’ve got a Frida Kahlo, Diego Rivera and Mexican Modernism exhibit at Portland Art Museum. It’s a terrific show and if you’re in town, do go. One of the joys of attending is watching a mural bloom in the lobby.



Another, of course is the gorgeous work of Frida and Diego. I’m hugely enamored of Kahlo’s self-portraits, all of which are honest and unflinching and actually make me a little nervous. I feel intimate with her emotional life when I stand before her work. Of course part of that is what I bring to the viewing, what I know of her life, her physical pain. But it is also that she doesn’t sugar-coat. She doesn’t smile, her eyes aren’t soft, she is intensely present, staring at me as much as I am staring at her.


When I was a teenager, my mother commissioned a local artist to make a portrait, a large pastel, of the two of us sitting on a flowered couch, surrounded by the ferns and philodendrons that populated our late 1970’s home. We sat close together and the artist, Kitty Wallis, did her best to capture the love and vinegar of our relationship. My mother had the portrait framed, and never hung it up. Why? Wallis truthfully depicted our facial hair! We are a Jewish and Italian family and, like Frida Kahlo, our upper lips had fuzz. My mother and I used bleaches and wax to eradicate the unwanted adornment, yet Wallis revealed our embarrassing feature. We hated it! So much so that when my mother ran into Wallis at our local grocery store, she asked, sheepishly, if Wallis would “fix” the portrait. Wallis gave a firm no.

When I left the art museum I called my mom and yes, the portrait is still stashed in the back of her closet. The next time I visit I’m going to bring it home and hang it up. We are no longer mustachioed. (Thanks laser hair removal!) I am a little sad about the torment I felt about my upper lip. God love Frida Kahlo’s take no prisoners expression. I wish it had been a skill of mine.

I wish we could swim like the dolphins can swim

Hey ho!


I’m just coming through the other side of surgery (all good, thanks for your concern!). I spent a good many days on the couch, crocheting, dozing and watching A LOT of television.  Every time I saw that little countdown note, “next episode in 7 seconds,” it felt like I was chain-smoking, lighting a cigarette off the one still between my lips! And I don’t smoke. I mean, sure I was grateful for the diversion of TV, but I felt gross after hours and hours. Thank goodness for pals who diverted me with flowers, snacks, phone calls, and care packages, including these tasty and handsome bears!



As a pay it forward, I offer this beautiful moment for us all: David Byrne singing Heroes. Remember when we could sing together w/out masks? (If you slid by, please hang a u-turn now to listen. It will lift your heart!) In case you want to see David Bowie sing Heroes, here you go. I do wish we could swim like dolphins can swim!



Hey-ho! For years I observed with joy, ambition, yearning, dismay, self-flagellation and sometimes sorrow the persistent displays of family love, humor, good-times, perfection (Christmas trees, gifts, meals, affection, mutual appreciation, romance and banished loneliness) we are bombarded with during the holidays. Not that our family doesn’t have our own sweet holidays but measuring up to (social)media and advertising heights is hard! I was a victim (well I allowed myself to be) of Martha Stewart’s impossible standards in the 80s and 90s. The J. Crew catalog slayed me… in a bad way. Why weren’t we playing touch football in the snow with adorable Labradors frolicking? Hot cidering in front of a fire, dressed in matching robes? (Where oh where was the counterpoint of SUCCESIONTHE SOPRANOS? CURB YOUR ENTHUSIASM with petty Larry David hitting on Mary in a living creche?) One year it was impossible to take a lovely snapshot of our family and so, for our holiday card, I used a photo of the dirty dishes after Thanksgiving. Though I said something about happy messes, it was literally the best we could do.



And let me tell you, (hear me out) the Obama’s didn’t help! I love that family and am grateful for all they did. I read both Michelle’s and Barrack’s memoirs. I was moved (am moved) by their dedication to their family. And I ADORE this photo! I don’t know how I stumbled upon it, but man, when our family has had normal ups and downs, looking at this picture of the First Family oozing tension, being real, normalized my family being real. It helped me stop holding myself to impossible standards.



I hope you will let go of your own impossible standards. I hope, if you are traveling with family, visiting family you can grab a laugh and reality check with this photo…eye-rolling, teeth clenching, avoidant and pissed off. Man-oh-man! Thanks Obamas!

a quirky, festive heap!



We’ve hovered in this strange pandy-world for nearly two years, terrible-better-bad-better-better-bad-good. I hope things are brightening for all of you, that your time in the good column is ever increasing. Here are some things that brought me comfort, joy, laughs, and sanity. I’m sending this list (acting as your personal shopper) as a small gift to you. Maybe you will find the.perfect.thing. for your loved ones, pals, or for yourself!

Books (in no particular order):

  • Deborah Levy’s “Living Autobiography Series,” is insightful, funny, inspiring, Levy explores ambition, family, marriage, identity, and motherhood. She lifts the mundane to the sublime in her explorations (oh man, a section about ‘ice lollies’ and her mother’s illness brings me to tears). THINGS I DON’T WANT TO KNOW. THE COST OF LIVINGREAL ESTATE.
  • If you are a regular reader of my newsletter, you know I love Elizabeth Strout. I want to suggest reading (rereading?) three of her novels which tell the story of Lucy Barton’s life. As a child she lived in extreme poverty. She grew up to become an acclaimed writer, unable to shake the feelings of invisibility. Strout explores class, PTSD, how we never leave our childhoods behind, marriage and love. MY NAME IS LUCY BARTON. ANYTHING IS POSSIBLE. OH, WILLIAM. 
  • For the writer in your life, check out THE ART OF... series from Graywolf Press. The books are fantastic covering everything from revision, subtext, description, time, and more.
  • I heard an interview on NPR with JR and Vanessa Ford and it lead me to their joyful children’s book, CALVIN, about how Calvin “navigates the complicated feelings of being a transgender kid and how he comes into expressing who he really is.” We love you, whoever you are… is how his parents respond. Who, may I humbly ask, doesn’t yearn to hear that?















  • This sunny omelette pan! If I were a pan, this would be me!
  • Not only have I given these napkins to two pals for recent birthdays, I bought them for us too.
  • Though we owned this handy little friend pre-pandemic, it certainly saved us when we couldn’t go to a coffeehouse. I whole-heartedly recommend this frothy-frother!



  • I’ve gone a little over the top with merch from DusenDusen. I bought the festive trash can, and the tissue box. My office? It’s now a delight.
  • Air filter. I know, not exactly festive and fun, but won’t the recipient be happy during the next ‘fire season’. 🙁
  • I received this candle as a gift a couple years ago and I’ve now given it to four different friends, plus, I bought a second for myself. It’s beautiful and I love the orange scent.













  • If you are a knitter, the kits from Wool and the Gang are terrific. The patterns are stylish, the yarn choices lush, and the patterns easy to follow. I’ve made this poncho for my daughter, a baby blanket, and am currently knitting this vest while I watch Succession. (Let me tell you, the stitches are a little tight from all the tension in the Roy family.)





If you’re able, here are three places where a donation can make a difference.






That’s what I have–a quirky, mostly festive heap of things that may enliven your holidays, and your day-to-day!.

I wish you a cozy season full of love and light.























































Back in the before time, meaning before the Delta Variant terrorized us all, my husband and I went to a concert, INDOORS! I know, it was crazy, it was July. We saw Arturo Sandoval, the 71-year-old, Cuban American jazz trumpeter, and let me tell you, it was a joy-filled evening.

About halfway through the concert, Sandoval shared that as a small boy, growing up in central Cuba, he’d asked to learn to play the piano and was told the piano was for girls. So, he taught himself the trumpet. Yet the piano always beckoned and over the years Sandoval taught himself to play. “I’d like to play something for you now,” he said to us. “I hope you like it. I don’t care if you don’t.”

Man, that slayed me. Right on, Mr. Sandoval! He played piano because he was feeding his creative soul. Geez, I hope that’s something we can all do. Of course his playing was gorgeous. And when he picked up his trumpet again, that too was vivid and alive.

We left the concert feeling light and full at the same time, and I promised myself I’d tell you all about him. Sandoval followed his dream. Then he shared his passion, “I hope you like it.” But he also knew that the gift he’d given himself, learning the piano, was in and of itself enough. “I don’t care if you don’t.”

I hope you prioritize your passion and your curiosity with the same ferocity.




We’ve just finished watching 100 Foot Wave, which was fascinating. The power and beauty of the waves had our mouths hanging open. The obsession and fearlessness of the surfers was equally mesmerizing. I don’t understand the drive to put oneself at such grave risk, in the palm of something churning and vast and potentially deadly. Equally riveting was the arc of Garrett McNamara’s journey. To begin with he was selfish, absorbed in his own passion, slightly arrogant, and frankly unlikeable. But as the injuries and the years piled on, he softened. (Funny how that happens to all of us!) By the end of the series, I found him compelling and wholly sympathetic.

We also watched a charming and funny movie, CODA, about a hearing child of deaf parents and the responsibilities that fall on the child’s shoulders to help her deaf family navigate a hearing world. I really don’t want to say too much, it’s just a delight. Do check it out.

Finally, we tried to watch The Righteous Gemstones, a comedy series about a celebrity televangelist, his mega-church and the corrupt family behind it all. Even though I find capitalized religion distasteful, (the Gemstones take over a defunct Sears department store and turn it into a mega-church, which is meta and funny) I just couldn’t manage the show. The show asked me again and again to laugh at people rather than with people. It made me feel uncomfortable and bumped me from the lucid dream of the story. Mean-spirited jabs at large bodies, bad teeth, big belts, wigs and sideburns, greed, unnecessary violence, plus a gratuitous number of penises (why?), just didn’t add up to fun laughter. We gave it four episodes. If you’ve watched it and want to push back, shoot me an email and let me know why I should continue. I delight in being proved wrong!

















I know I’ve mentioned the Conan O’Brien Needs a Friend podcast here before, but I want to suggest the episode with Melissa McCarthy. She’s a joy!  A couple things she said really stuck with me, both as good advice for writing and also why I don’t like mean-spirited comedy.

MM: “If you are making fun of a character you are playing…there is a meanness that bumps me out as an audience member.”

Writing a one-dimensional character, someone who’s a dork, or mean, without giving nuance and complication, and well… humanity, feels cheap and easy. People aren’t like that, they have layers. As one of my writing teachers, Stewart O’Nan said, you’ve got to give characters some contradictions, make your serial killer an expert diaper changer!

MM: “When I play people, I think some people think I’m making fun of that type of woman… Nope, that is the woman that fascinates me. Someone I can’t take my eyes off of. If you’re in a store and there is somebody that’s like, ‘Yeah, I’m all in purple. Wait till you see me in the parking lot because my car is purple too.’ That’s the one I literally get love goggles. I’m not making fun of them. I’m like, you are literally living right because you don’t give a shit what anybody else thinks about you. You’re not hurting anyone, you’re just all decked out in grape.”



I believe that is how we have to write. It doesn’t mean we cannot write asshats, or weirdos, we just have to embrace their full, messy and complicated humanity. Or, as Louise Erdrich says, “To love another human in all of her splendor and imperfect perfection, it is a magnificent task…tremendous and foolish and human.” (Of course I can think of a slew of politicians who don’t fall into the lovable-despite-flaws category. I think that has to do with the power they wield.) But, as writers we must do this for our characters.

Another listen for you! I’m super excited to take part in Kelly Fordon’s project, Let’s Deconstruct A Story. In the first hour Kelly and I will be talking about my story, “Children Are Magic,” which is sold out at One Story Magazine, but you will get an electronic version for the discussion. In the second hour Kelly will provide prompts and you’ll have an opportunity to share your writing. What a wonderful way to spend October 13th from 3:00 – 5:00p PST. I hope to see you! (Side note, Children are Magic is from my novel, MUST BE NICE, and though one is not supposed to have favorites, the family in that story is so near and dear to my heart!)















This cake is so damn good and virtuous!


  • 2 1/4 c flour
  • 1/2 c unsweetened cocoa powder
  • 1t baking soda
  • 1t salt
  • 1 3/4 c sugar
  • 1/2 c unsalted butter, room temp
  • 1/2 vegetable oil
  • 2 lg. eggs
  • 1t vanilla
  • 1/2 c buttermilk
  • 2c grated zucchini
  • 60z chocolate chips
  • 3/4 c chopped walnuts


  • Preheat oven to 325°
  • Butter and flour a 9x13x2” baking pan
  • Sift flour (I use whole wheat pastry), cocoa powder, baking soda and salt into a medium bowl.
  • Beat sugar, butter and oil (I usually use canola oil, but next time I’m going to try olive!) in your stand mixer bowl until light and fluffy
  • Add eggs one at time, beating well after each addition
  • Beat in vanilla
  • Mix in dry ingredients alternately with buttermilk in three additions, ending with buttermilk
  • Fold in grated zucchini
  • Pour batter into prepared pan and sprinkle with EXCELLENT quality chocolate chips. (I said semisweet back in the day when I had children at home. Now I use bittersweet. Hmm… that has to mean something, no?) Sprinkle with chopped walnuts as well
  • Bake for 50 minutes, or until a tester comes out clean
  • Cool cake in pan…or not! Maybe just eat right away!



Thanks for spending a minute with me. Take good care. If you’ve not yet gotten a vaccine, please chat with smart people to hear all the reasons it’s a good idea. Also, be certain to mask up and protect the kids who aren’t yet old enough for a vaccine.

If you have the funds, consider helping out our Haitian brothers and sisters. Here and here.

And a message from Stanley: take time to play!



If you need a book, I’ve got all the recommendations from two years of this newsletter at my Bookshop.




























































It’s been a minute. I’ve missed you!

I saw a post on Instagram of a writer at a photoshoot saying she was grateful for not being asked to smile. My initial response was, yes, great! It’s considered de rigueur for women to be accessible and inviting, to smile. I remember a time when I was about nineteen, in the midst of a busy waitressing shift, and an older (creepy) man called me over to tell me I’d be prettier with lipstick and a smile. I wish I’d had the nerve to dump a tray in his lap. Women have no responsibility to be pretty for the male gaze, or anyone’s gaze.

Taking a morning walk at my local park, I thought about the non-smiling writer’s portrait. It is beautiful and strong. Also, it got me to wonder about the cost/benefit analysis of a smile. Each time I caught the gaze of a fellow morning rambler, and we exchanged a nod, a smile, I felt a boost. What started as a brooding walk—thinking about the state of the world, AQI, rise of covid infections, upended plans—was lightened by the flashes of connection I felt all over the park. Returning a smile was a spark, a synaptic leap.

A smile also offers the benefit of the feedback loop. When we use muscles in our face that are generally linked to an emotion, we can stimulate the emotion. Hence, forming a smile may actually brighten our day, even if at first we don’t feel like smiling.

I’m not here to say anyone should force smile. Certainly we shouldn’t have performative smiles. But I will err on the side of a slight fake. Smiling doesn’t necessarily mean I’m happy, it means I’m strong, I’m here, and so are you.




My television is in a battle for my soul. Do I watch TED LASSO and call forth my better angels? Do I laugh at the silly and thoughtful kindness that is Ted, an American football coach brought to England to coach a premiere soccer team, about which he knows nothing? Do I ascribe to his folksy homilies? Like:

  • I promise you, there is something worse out there than being sad. And that is being alone and being sad. Ain’t no one in this room alone.
  • I believe in hope. I believe in Believe.
  • Be curious. Not judgmental.

That last is the anti-thesis of the other show that is seducing me with its decadent, judgy, lascivious deliciousness. Yes, I experience schadenfreude watching the crumbling of the uberwealthy white guests on WHITE LOTUS. And yes, I recognize (and cringe) that I too, as a privileged white woman, am being skewered. There is a bit of a ‘take your medicine’ zeitgeist to the show, but the characters are so over-the-top horrible that watching them is a like a fan dance, we take our medicine with a spoonful of sugar, for we are never that bad, are we? Or are we? Here are some of the opposites of folk homilies that come from the mouths of the characters:

  • “I really want to get a job,” says the new bride of an incredibly wealthy, entitled jerk. “Now, why would you do that?” asks her mother-in-law, who has shown up on the honeymoon!
  • “It’s vacation,” a teenage son shouts at his mother, a corporate captain who runs a google-esque company and is micromanaging the vacation. “It’s a breakfast buffet in Hawaii. It shouldn’t be a stressful situation!”
  • “Obviously, imperialism was bad,” A father explains to his daughter’s non-white friend. “But it’s humanity. Welcome to history. Welcome to America.” 

White Lotus has an amazing chaos agent in the character of Armand, the manager of the resort, who has not just fallen, but avalanched off-the-wagon, and whose behavior is responsible for delicious plot twists.

If you’ve not taken a peek at either show, grab a swim-up barstool at the White Lotus, and then cleanse your palate with an episode of Ted Lasso. Both are worth your time.

















I’m halfway through listening to KLARA AND THE SUN, by Kazuo Ishiguro and I’m loving it. Set in a dystopian future, where some children are “lifted” or genetically engineered for enhanced academic ability, and where schooling is provided entirely at home by on-screen tutors (covid times?). Thus socialization is extremely limited and parents who are financially able buy their children androids as companions. The book is narrated by Klara, one such Artificial Friend (AF). While Klara is exceptionally empathic and intelligent, her knowledge of the world is of course limited. As I listen, I’m filled with slight dread for what is to come of her. Are AFs cast off, as so many childhood delights?

If you’ve not read Ishiguro’s novel, NEVER LET ME GO, I highly recommend it. Also set in a dystopian future, the novel is about, well I don’t want to say more in fear of spoiling the plot, but the story is beautiful, it’s about love and an uncertain future, the characters human and humane. Disconnection with humanity is a theme in both of the novels.

Also, in case you want a sweet and lovely bit of background music, the jazz singer, Stacey Kent collaborated with Ishiguro on this album, BREAKFAST ON THE MORNING TRAM, for which he wrote the lyrics to a few songs. There is one song entitled, “I Wish I Could Go Traveling Again” in which there is the line, “I want our waiter to give us a reprimand, in a language neither of us understand.” Man, I feel her.

Finally, my TBR stack is topped with my friend, Kate Nason’s memoir, EVERYTHING IS PERFECT. I had the pleasure of hearing excerpts of Kate’s book around my dining room table as she was writing it. Kate has a generous way of looking at the world, unsparing and unblinking, not failing to see beauty and humor in even the most untenable situations. Here’s a bit from the flap copy which describes her book to a tee: “her memoir uncovers the little-known side of a well-known story, unveiling a cautionary tale about the ways we deceive ourselves when we allow ourselves to be deceived by those we love. Nason explores the roles women inhabit throughout their lives, how they carry trauma, and the lengths they’ll go to protect their children and save themselves. Fierce and often funny self-reckoning, a meditation on learning to trust one’s intuition.”

Finally, do you know about Libby? It’s an App that lets you check out audio books from your library. Sign up!
















Have you seen this recipe for gazpacho? Well, now that you have, you’ve landed in gazpacho nirvana. Samin Nosrat has something to say about it here. This is the only recipe you’ll need hence forts. Consider it a guideline that you can learn and then toss aside to riff on the theme with your own invention.

For the Gazpacho:

  • 1 small red onion
  • 3 Persian cucumbers, peeled
  • 1 large red bell pepper, seeded, ribs removed
  • ½ jalapeño pepper, seeded, ribs removed
  • 2 ½ pounds Sungold (or other orange) cherry tomatoes (about 3 to 4 pint baskets or 8 1/2 cups), stemmed
  • 1 clove garlic
  • ½ cup extra-virgin olive oil
  •  Kosher or fine sea salt
  •  1-2 teaspoons sherry vinegar or red-wine vinegar

Cut half the onion, 2 of the cucumbers, 3/4 of the bell pepper and the jalapeño into 1-inch pieces. Place in the bowl of a food processor or blender jar. Add Sungold tomatoes, garlic, olive oil and 2 teaspoons kosher salt or 1 teaspoon fine sea salt. Blend at high speed until completely smooth. (If necessary, blend in batches, then stir together.)

Place a fine-mesh sieve over a large bowl, and strain soup, using a spatula to help press the liquid through; discard the solids.

Finely dice remaining onion, cucumber and pepper, and add to soup; stir in vinegar. If desired, add water 1 tablespoon at a time to thin out the soup. Taste, and adjust salt and vinegar as needed. Cover, and chill soup for 45 minutes. (Chill 6 soup bowls now too.)

For the Basil Oil:

  • 16 basil leaves
  • ¼ cup extra-virgin olive oil
  • 5 ounces Sweet 100 (or other red) cherry tomatoes (about 1/3 pint basket or 1 cup), stemmed and halved
  •  Kosher or sea salt

Finely chop the basil leaves. Place in a small bowl, and cover with the olive oil. Add the halved cherry tomatoes and a generous pinch of salt. Toss to combine, then taste and adjust salt. Set aside.

Ladle soup into bowls and garnish with a tablespoon or so of the basil oil.




Thanks for spending a minute with me. Take good care. If you’ve not yet gotten a vaccine, please chat with smart people to hear all the reasons it’s a good idea. Also, be certain to mask up and protect the kids who aren’t yet old enough for a vaccine.

Stanley does not feel like smiling.

If you need a book, I’ve got all the recommendations from two years of this newsletter at my Bookshop.




























































I * may * have taxed our relationship by writing about turnips and baby books in my last newsletter. What can I say, I overestimated your desire to learn about root vegetables! (I am willing to die on the hill that, when properly prepared, turnips are sublime.)

To make it up to you I have all things hilarious, insightful, danceable, and delicious! Read on for viewing, listening, podcasting, and snacking news below. All good ways to deal with the unprecedented heat we’re experiencing this summer.



It was 116° F here in Portland. Honestly, opening the front door felt like, well, being slammed into a heat wall. Then our AC went out. We hunkered in front of the TV for a binge watch to take our minds off our discomfort. Two fans going, multiple bowls of very buttery popcorn, gin and tonics in sweaty glasses + HACKSthat is how we passed five very pleasant hours.

If you haven’t yet watched HACKS, oh man, I am envious that you get to watch it for the first time! I laughed so hard. The writing is smart, smart, smart. The storyline is moving, relevant to politics and women, aging and the well founded (see the recent climate change related heat dome) existential worries of twenty-somethings. The premise is, an aging comedian (the absolutely fantastic Jean Smart), once the vanguard of women in comedy, is being relegated to the remainders bin. But she refuses to go quietly and is forced to work with a young woman (Hannah Einbinder), a comedy writer, who has gotten into trouble over a tweet. The young woman, Ava, is meant to revitalize and update Deborah Vance’s career. Here’s a snippet of how it begins:

After reading some of Ava’s pitches, Vance says: “They’re not jokes. They’re like thought poems. I had a horrible nightmare that I got a voice-mail.” Vance stares at the joke for a couple of seconds, as if it will make sense to her if she looks at it long enough. Then she turns her gaze back to Ava and squawks: “What?”

Generational conflict gets a lot of laughs, and we also understand that for both women, laughter is what keeps them going in a world that still (looking at you Louis CK) doesn’t make a lot of room for women.

Hey writers, I also want to point out the heavy lifting done by secondary characters in this show. They are, to a person, so wonderful, funny, have their own agendas, and are perfectly cast. Keep this in mind as you people your novels, stories, and memoirs.
















Do not skip the soundtrack to Questlove’s film, SUMMER OF SOUL. If you’re missing summer music festivals, treat yourself to seeing this film in a theater. AC blasting, good music on the screen, and so many beautiful faces! I was deeply moved to witness so much joy. Music that my mom blasted in our apartment when I was a kid lit me up inside and had me dancing in my seat, but it was seeing how much the concert meant to the Harlem community that brought me to tears. The festival, which ran before Woodstock, had been largely forgotten, the concert tapes moldering in a basement. Questlove, of The Roots, worked with hours and hours of music to bring us the film. In a NYTs interview he says:

History saw it fit that every last person that was on that stage now winds up defining a generation. Why isn’t this held in the same light? Why was it that easy to dispose of us? Instead, the cultural zeitgeist that actually ended up being our guide as Black people was “Soul Train.” And so, I’m always going to wonder, “How could this and ‘Soul Train’ have pushed potential creatives further?”

Read about Questlove’s passion project here. The film is both a pleasure and heartbreaking because little has changed for black people in our country. We have so much work to do.

Continuing my love affair with CREATE OUT LOUD, a podcast about the creative life from Jennifer Louden, my pal and a creativity expert, I recently listened to two episodes that entertained and brought insights. The first is with Angeline Boulley, whose book, FIREKEEPER’S DAUGHTER, is being made into a limited Netflix series by the Obamas. Pretty amazing news for a debut author! Boulley, 55, spent 10 years working on her novel, delving into everything from the intricacies of illegal drugs, (she learned how to cook meth!) to law enforcement, to hockey, to the ways of her own tribe, the Ojibwe people.

An insight from Jen: Once again a guest talks about self-compassion. How many times does that come up? Beating yourself up for what you are not doing, always raising the bar, expecting things from yourself in your creative work that don’t fit in your life, pretending that you can be someone you aren’t in terms of time or energy, is not gonna make it possible for you to create out loud.

Another episode, a conversation with Maggie Shipstead, has spurred me to want to read Shipstead’s work. Particularly ASTONISH ME.

An insight from Jen: Maggie didn’t have an identity of herself as a writer, she didn’t have a set of expectations… identity has to support the fullness of our self and our creative expression. And it needs to be fluid. It is not armor that we put on.  If calling yourself a writer, painter, actor, helps you to take it more seriously, yay. If it becomes a pressure, an oppression… throw it out. Make up a new word. Make yourself a hybrid.

There are many more episodes with all kinds of creatives. If you like nerdy (in the best possible way) conversations about creating… this could be your jam.














I’ve two tasty snacks for you (still making up for turnipgate). Everyone waxes on about the deliciousness of summer fruits, and or course they’re correct. I’m going to try and balance the scales with two recipes that take advantage of glorious summer vegetables. (I know a tomato is a fruit, okay, you got me!)

First from this recipe from my chef/writer friend, Alison Wonderland Tucker. She has a terrific newsletter you may want to subscribe to for delightful stories and recipes. Here’s the latest recipe which I’ve made three times in two weeks.


  • 1 tablespoon olive oil
  • 2 garlic cloves, chopped
  • 1/2 serrano chili (seeded for less heat or just leave as is for more heat), chopped
  • 1 medium red onion, chopped
  • ½ teaspoon salt
  • 1 teaspoon agave
  • 2 cups corn (I shucked fresh corn right off the cob)
  • 1 lime, juiced
  • ½ cup sour cream
  • 3 tablespoons mayonnaise
  • 3 teaspoons Aleppo chili powder
  • ¾ cup cotija cheese, crumbled
  • ¼ cup cilantro, chopped

Full disclosure, when I made this the first time, I didn’t have the recipe handy so I made it up as I went along. I did not cook of any of the ingredients, just made a crudo salsa and it was delicious. I also substituted honey for the agave and Padron peppers (I used 3-4 as they are mild) for the serrano because that is what I had on hand. It was a success! Alison’s version is here. 

  1. Heat the olive oil in a small pot on a medium flame.  Add the chopped garlic, serrano chili, and red onion and sprinkle in the salt.  Add the agave and cook until the onion has softened a bit, about 10 minutes.  Turn the heat up and add the corn.  Saute for 2 minutes until the corn has taken on a bit of color, but before it becomes mushy.
  2. Put the corn mixture into a large bowl and stir in the lime juice, sour cream, mayonnaise, Aleppo pepper, and cotija cheese.  Then stir in the cilantro. Pass the chips!  I made a giant batch, luckily because I mixed the leftovers with shredded cabbage for a terrific slaw. Great taco topping!

Next this salad from the NYTs.  This I’ve made multiple times in the past week.


  • 2 pounds ripe tomatoes (any variety), sliced 1/2-inch thick
  •  Kosher salt
  •  Extra-virgin olive oil
  • 1 (8- to 9-ounce) package halloumi, sliced 1/4- to 1/3-inch thick
  • 1 teaspoon coriander seeds
  • 1 teaspoon cumin seeds
  • ¼ teaspoon red-pepper flakes, plus more as needed
  • ¼ teaspoon granulated or Demerara sugar, plus more as needed
  1. Prepare a charcoal grill for two-zone cooking over medium-high heat by pouring the coals onto one half of the grill. For a gas grill, heat all of the burners to high, then turn off one of the end burners before cooking.
  2. While the grill is heating, arrange the tomatoes on a platter, season with 1/2 teaspoon salt. Drizzle with olive oil. Set aside. Pat halloumi dry and drizzle with olive oil to coat on both sides. Set aside.
  3. In a small skillet over medium-low heat, toast the coriander seeds, cumin seeds and red-pepper flakes, shaking often, until fragrant, 1 to 2 minutes. Transfer to a cutting board and smash with the side of your knife until cracked. (You can also do this with a mortar and pestle.) Transfer to a small bowl, add the sugar, and rub with your fingers to further crush the seeds.
  4. When you’re ready to grill, take the halloumi, tomatoes, seeds, tongs and a tightly folded paper towel soaked with olive oil to the grill. Clean the grates with a grill brush, then oil the grates with the paper towel. Grill the cheese over the flame, flipping halfway through, until well browned and it releases easily from the grill, 4 to 6 minutes total. (For a gas grill, close the lid between flips, listening and keeping an eye out for flare-ups.) If the cheese sticks to the grates, give it another minute on the heat. Transfer the cheese to the tomatoes, then sprinkle with the seeds. Season to taste with more red-pepper flakes, sugar and olive oil. Pass the pita bread!



Thanks for spending a minute with me. Stay tuned as I have a fun fall writing project brewing. Something for all of us to do together, to get words on the page.  Meanwhile, relax, swim, read, hike, rest, rejuvinate! Do whatever it is you enjoy and whatever means summer to you.

Also, if you’d like to help support Black Owned Businesses in Portland, check out this link. Nationally, you can check this out.

Stanley is keen on his donut anytime of year.