Seasons Greetings

This photo was taken in 2001. I was using a wheelchair, finishing my BA in theatre, and working at this place the state had sent me to - a place where those of us who were disabled could work for a period of time. I sat there, stuffing envelopes, or gluing things together, or packing light objects into boxes.

We had a Christmas party; they took our pictures with Santa. Here I am with Linda (Linda on the left, me on the right), who worked at the table behind me. Linda had some kind of brain injury, I think. She was a very sweet young woman; not a great conversationalist, for she would stutter and repeat, but she was kind.

Love Smorgasbord: First Installment of the "Love List"

My friend Kai - coincidentally, also my ex-husband - wrote a blog entry on the subject of "love passes."

He also posted it on facebook (yes, who could foresee the day, a decade or so ago, that I'd be facebook friends with my ex-husband?), which is where I originally wrote the following response:

I don't have a spouse, so basically my life is one long "love pass"... I can indulge in trysts with celebrity crushes to my heart's content. Yes, it's a veritable love smorgasbord here in Kalamazoo, Michigan, as I pass from one big-name assignation to the next.

My list would be, in no particular order: Richard Buckner, Paul McGann, the Coen Bros. (individually, I think, rather than collectively, and only if they are single - so that would require a divorce or two, I reckon - hey, I'm easy but I'm no homewrecker, especially not the home of the fabulous Frances McDormand), James McAvoy (again, he'll have to divorce - sorry, Mrs. McAvoy), Jonathan Meiburg (of Shearwater), and Tom Stoppard.

I'm sure I'm leaving many lovely men off the list, but seeing as I'm spouseless anyway, a carved-in-stone list is not a requirement for this endless love-pass existence of mine.

I reserve the right to update the list as new information comes to my attention.

And not that I feel the need to explain or justify the list, but Richard Buckner has a voice that just reaches into my guts. In a good, if aching, way.

Slept - Richard Buckner