I honestly am awake at 4am and too ill to make proper use of this amazing prompt. But I could not let it go by without letting you know how your stunning tribute to Max has left me in tears of bittersweet joy. Because I have a friend like Max. And I have his letters. Ones that are either questions or answers to letters of mine (long-handed chicken & egg) since we wrote to each other every week all through undergrad, when we were in schools across the country from one another. We knew etiquette says you wait to receive your letter before writing back but sometimes we’d get so excited that our ‘return’ letters would cross in the mail and deciphering what had happened and what was yet to come became an Agatha Christie-level mystery of epic proportions. Those letters are now, decades later, in a clear waterproof tote in my attic. And just seeing his handwriting on the envelopes through the walls of that tote … it always brings all those beautiful memories of racing to the dorm mailbox to check for a letter, flooding back with sweetness and joy and tinge of sadness for a simpler time and one of the sweetest pleasures I’ve known … those loooooooooooong-handed letters of complete vulnerability with a most trusted and well loved best friend. Thank you so much for those specifically treasured emotions, long dormant. I’m truly sorry for your loss. Sending love.
Lying in bed, relishing the quiet, soft, white sky out of the window (we are expecting rain today), and reading today's prompt I immediately thought of the song Mr. Blue Sky by ELO. After my 30 year old daughter passed in 2022, I was grieving deeply. I took on a part time job as a nanny.of a sweet two-year old girl named Elizabella, Ellie for short. To lift my spirits, I would play that song over and over for us, while we were driving in the car. Ellie, bouncing in her car seat, would ask for the windows down and the sunroof opened so we could dance in our seats, point to the sky and address it's blueness with loud singing voices, lifting our spirits as we giggled and sang loudly. When the song ended, little Ellie would shout out "Again! Again!" in her sweet, high-pitched, two year old voice and I thought, grinning ear-to-ear, God has surely given me this song and this child to heal my heart. ♡
From “The Velveteen Rabbit”-"It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." I bought this book for me in my thirties because I didn’t remember too many meaningful books from my childhood. So I just kept buying children’s book as I grew older. This book helped me to realize my realness was a gift. Thank you Max, thank you Sarah, Suleika , Carmen et al.
Celeste by Ezra Vine. The song starts with a joyous instrumental before the lyrics begin, “I was sitting in a field of pine trees / Coaxing the words from the earth and the dirt”. The song pours sunshine into my soul. I can’t help but smile. It means summer and smiles and dancing and bare-foot kiwi freedom, but it carries a depth — it reminds me how much joy a person or place can make you feel. The song talks of a love interest but my love associated with this piece is home — the beaches of Taranaki. It makes the whole of me glow from the top of my head to the soles of my sandy feet.
dear dear suleika, thank you for holding up the luminescence of Max today. with my breath as i read your words, then sarah's, then his, i felt as if i was joining hands and heart with him, a fellow soldier, one unafraid to say he was afraid, one who brought his poetry into the landscape of CancerLand, one who lives on now in our hearts because we too befriended him in reading him here. i for one will carry Max forward as i walk this road where it takes me.....bless you. bless you all.
Lately, I have been feeling like nature is God’s art. It’s been unfolding before my eyes right after the recent warm temperatures and rain. Tree leaves unfurl open as a kaleidoscope surrounding my body. It happens so quickly, that the streets are painted by many lucious shades of new bright greens. They are painted on all of the trees aligning the edges of sidewalks and the bushy bushes in front yard gardens. I am called to spring into Spring with two feet and a full heart.
I will be ordering Letters from Max because I am so deeply touched by today’s share, and really, because I want to get to know him better. I am in awe of one who can communicate so richly and keenly, tapping into our humanity, our self-awareness and compassion with words that are at once carefully chosen and also free flowing and quick-witted. Thank you, Suleika and Sarah, for giving us a taste of Max’s beautiful heart this morning.
And in response to today’s prompt:
I’m a bit embarrassed to share that I have watched The Sound of Music close to a billion times. I know it’s sappy and sweet and schmaltzy. I know it’s been criticized for historical inaccuracies and unrealistic romantic declarations (two teens singing and dancing in a gazebo in the rain?). I know all this as I smile and sing every word along with Julie/Maria. My mother took me to see The Sound of Music when it first came to theaters in 1965 and I've watched it regularly since, usually on TV, commercials and all. I still tear up a little when Christopher Plummer finally softens, picks up his guitar and sings Edelweiss with his sweet daughter. The Sound of Music is a little shimmery gift I give to myself every so often, despite the eye rolling of my husband and sons. The film is still one of my favorite things.
What a prompt - I would say, any clip of Fred Astaire dancing I could watch 2 billion times - his every move, the effortless grace, the precision - to feel the joy, the magic. Ever since I was a little girl, it was a dream of mine to dance with Fred just once. I would have given anything to be Eleanor Powell in Begin the Beguine, Cyd Charisse in Dancing in the Dark or Ginger Rogers in The Continental - How I wanted to know what it felt like to dance with Fred. Just once. Still do.
I’m usually the silent participant. Hungrily absorbing all the words and prompts from the “safety” of my screen. I rarely give back of myself but as you espouse the joy and miracle of what it means to be a part of a wonderful community, I feel in awe, and am inspired to show and share myself just a bit more. So here I am, mostly just wanting to express my gratitude. I’ve followed you for years and you have always provided insightful and thought provoking musings. I am currently grieving & recovering from a miscarriage and this community never fails to offer comfort and support. So grateful to be here and always eagerly awaiting hearing from you on Sundays ❤️
On the subject of letters...I have a former student who has become very close to me. He writes me these very long missives on everything in the world and I always write back with the same excitement. I liken our discourse to an extended version of "My dinner with Andre," if anyone remembers that film. He breathes life into me in the moments when I need it the most.
Art...the other night my husband put on Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, and for reasons I'm not clear about right now, I could not stop crying. I love that album so much, and maybe it's that it brings my daughter Rachel back to me, for just a moment. Or two.
Joni Mitchell’s music touches all my feels button. The first notes coming out of her, I have to pause and listen. The poet that she is, her lyrics, speak volumes. She is magic, soothes my inner angst. All the time, for a long, long, long time. I reach for Joni.
It came yesterday in a cardboard box; a book, a gift for a baby girl not yet born; the same book I once bought for another baby girl waiting to be born, my little granddaughter, my little girl; me who only knew little boys, then was gifted with this bundle of cuteness I could dress in pink.
A book called "Princess Bess Gets Dressed” by Margery Cuyler, done in lilting poetry and soft watercolor drawings; the story a little girl’s dream of endless finery, of dresses in pinks and purples and satin and lace and all that sparkles; a book I read to my grand-baby a thousand times.
When I opened the box and read it again I cried, remembering those tender, long-gone days; a wiggly sweetheart leaning into my arms as we immersed ourselves in a story of a happy but duty-bound princess in beautiful clothes, one who ate muffins with the queen and lunched in a tree with a prince, one who dances at fancy balls, but in the end only wants the comfort of her underwear and her snuggly bed.
It’s an ending that struck a chord in me as I, too, long for comfort when the days are busy and tiring, when I’m sick of all that is lousy in the world, and those times I’ve been sick of being sick. I want to take off my restricting clothes, feel the slick satin of my night clothes against my skin, the luxurious softness of sheets and pillows and a comforter that soothe away all my stresses, till I blissfully leave my troubles behind for the comfort of sleep--just like Princess Bess.
Now I’ll gift the book to another baby girl, to be read to her as I read it to my girl, over and over and over again, never tiring of the colorful drawings that wash over you, the lively words that lead you through a princess’s busy day, to an ending that never ceases to surprise the delighted child, and the adult who clearly gets the message.
I honestly am awake at 4am and too ill to make proper use of this amazing prompt. But I could not let it go by without letting you know how your stunning tribute to Max has left me in tears of bittersweet joy. Because I have a friend like Max. And I have his letters. Ones that are either questions or answers to letters of mine (long-handed chicken & egg) since we wrote to each other every week all through undergrad, when we were in schools across the country from one another. We knew etiquette says you wait to receive your letter before writing back but sometimes we’d get so excited that our ‘return’ letters would cross in the mail and deciphering what had happened and what was yet to come became an Agatha Christie-level mystery of epic proportions. Those letters are now, decades later, in a clear waterproof tote in my attic. And just seeing his handwriting on the envelopes through the walls of that tote … it always brings all those beautiful memories of racing to the dorm mailbox to check for a letter, flooding back with sweetness and joy and tinge of sadness for a simpler time and one of the sweetest pleasures I’ve known … those loooooooooooong-handed letters of complete vulnerability with a most trusted and well loved best friend. Thank you so much for those specifically treasured emotions, long dormant. I’m truly sorry for your loss. Sending love.
~ Joanie
Lying in bed, relishing the quiet, soft, white sky out of the window (we are expecting rain today), and reading today's prompt I immediately thought of the song Mr. Blue Sky by ELO. After my 30 year old daughter passed in 2022, I was grieving deeply. I took on a part time job as a nanny.of a sweet two-year old girl named Elizabella, Ellie for short. To lift my spirits, I would play that song over and over for us, while we were driving in the car. Ellie, bouncing in her car seat, would ask for the windows down and the sunroof opened so we could dance in our seats, point to the sky and address it's blueness with loud singing voices, lifting our spirits as we giggled and sang loudly. When the song ended, little Ellie would shout out "Again! Again!" in her sweet, high-pitched, two year old voice and I thought, grinning ear-to-ear, God has surely given me this song and this child to heal my heart. ♡
From “The Velveteen Rabbit”-"It's a thing that happens to you. When a child loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real." I bought this book for me in my thirties because I didn’t remember too many meaningful books from my childhood. So I just kept buying children’s book as I grew older. This book helped me to realize my realness was a gift. Thank you Max, thank you Sarah, Suleika , Carmen et al.
The physical gift of hand knitted socks. That kind of generosity. Would that I could witness it a billion times.
Celeste by Ezra Vine. The song starts with a joyous instrumental before the lyrics begin, “I was sitting in a field of pine trees / Coaxing the words from the earth and the dirt”. The song pours sunshine into my soul. I can’t help but smile. It means summer and smiles and dancing and bare-foot kiwi freedom, but it carries a depth — it reminds me how much joy a person or place can make you feel. The song talks of a love interest but my love associated with this piece is home — the beaches of Taranaki. It makes the whole of me glow from the top of my head to the soles of my sandy feet.
dear dear suleika, thank you for holding up the luminescence of Max today. with my breath as i read your words, then sarah's, then his, i felt as if i was joining hands and heart with him, a fellow soldier, one unafraid to say he was afraid, one who brought his poetry into the landscape of CancerLand, one who lives on now in our hearts because we too befriended him in reading him here. i for one will carry Max forward as i walk this road where it takes me.....bless you. bless you all.
I love Max Rivko the poet and his work. How lucky are you to have known this soul while he was with us, breathing.
The chest pocket always gets me. Where we keep our hearts.
Afternoon
When I was about to die
my body lit up
like when I leave my house
without my wallet.
What am I missing? I ask
patting my chest
pocket.
and I am missing everything living
that won’t come with me
into this sunny afternoon
—my body lights up for life
like all the wishes being granted in a fountain
at the same instant—
all the coins burning the fountain dry—
and I give my breath
to a small bird-shaped pipe.
In the distance, behind several voices
haggling, I hear a sound like heads
clicking together. Like a game of pool,
played with people by machines.
One of the best. Thanks for the gifts you left behind, Max.
Lately, I have been feeling like nature is God’s art. It’s been unfolding before my eyes right after the recent warm temperatures and rain. Tree leaves unfurl open as a kaleidoscope surrounding my body. It happens so quickly, that the streets are painted by many lucious shades of new bright greens. They are painted on all of the trees aligning the edges of sidewalks and the bushy bushes in front yard gardens. I am called to spring into Spring with two feet and a full heart.
I will be ordering Letters from Max because I am so deeply touched by today’s share, and really, because I want to get to know him better. I am in awe of one who can communicate so richly and keenly, tapping into our humanity, our self-awareness and compassion with words that are at once carefully chosen and also free flowing and quick-witted. Thank you, Suleika and Sarah, for giving us a taste of Max’s beautiful heart this morning.
And in response to today’s prompt:
I’m a bit embarrassed to share that I have watched The Sound of Music close to a billion times. I know it’s sappy and sweet and schmaltzy. I know it’s been criticized for historical inaccuracies and unrealistic romantic declarations (two teens singing and dancing in a gazebo in the rain?). I know all this as I smile and sing every word along with Julie/Maria. My mother took me to see The Sound of Music when it first came to theaters in 1965 and I've watched it regularly since, usually on TV, commercials and all. I still tear up a little when Christopher Plummer finally softens, picks up his guitar and sings Edelweiss with his sweet daughter. The Sound of Music is a little shimmery gift I give to myself every so often, despite the eye rolling of my husband and sons. The film is still one of my favorite things.
I have a friend's first bust that she made in Art school. Although she is gone I see it everyday and
it fills me with the many beautiful memories we shared.
What a prompt - I would say, any clip of Fred Astaire dancing I could watch 2 billion times - his every move, the effortless grace, the precision - to feel the joy, the magic. Ever since I was a little girl, it was a dream of mine to dance with Fred just once. I would have given anything to be Eleanor Powell in Begin the Beguine, Cyd Charisse in Dancing in the Dark or Ginger Rogers in The Continental - How I wanted to know what it felt like to dance with Fred. Just once. Still do.
Virginia Bluebells
Dear Suleika,
I’m usually the silent participant. Hungrily absorbing all the words and prompts from the “safety” of my screen. I rarely give back of myself but as you espouse the joy and miracle of what it means to be a part of a wonderful community, I feel in awe, and am inspired to show and share myself just a bit more. So here I am, mostly just wanting to express my gratitude. I’ve followed you for years and you have always provided insightful and thought provoking musings. I am currently grieving & recovering from a miscarriage and this community never fails to offer comfort and support. So grateful to be here and always eagerly awaiting hearing from you on Sundays ❤️
On the subject of letters...I have a former student who has become very close to me. He writes me these very long missives on everything in the world and I always write back with the same excitement. I liken our discourse to an extended version of "My dinner with Andre," if anyone remembers that film. He breathes life into me in the moments when I need it the most.
Art...the other night my husband put on Pink Floyd's Dark Side of the Moon, and for reasons I'm not clear about right now, I could not stop crying. I love that album so much, and maybe it's that it brings my daughter Rachel back to me, for just a moment. Or two.
Joni Mitchell’s music touches all my feels button. The first notes coming out of her, I have to pause and listen. The poet that she is, her lyrics, speak volumes. She is magic, soothes my inner angst. All the time, for a long, long, long time. I reach for Joni.
It came yesterday in a cardboard box; a book, a gift for a baby girl not yet born; the same book I once bought for another baby girl waiting to be born, my little granddaughter, my little girl; me who only knew little boys, then was gifted with this bundle of cuteness I could dress in pink.
A book called "Princess Bess Gets Dressed” by Margery Cuyler, done in lilting poetry and soft watercolor drawings; the story a little girl’s dream of endless finery, of dresses in pinks and purples and satin and lace and all that sparkles; a book I read to my grand-baby a thousand times.
When I opened the box and read it again I cried, remembering those tender, long-gone days; a wiggly sweetheart leaning into my arms as we immersed ourselves in a story of a happy but duty-bound princess in beautiful clothes, one who ate muffins with the queen and lunched in a tree with a prince, one who dances at fancy balls, but in the end only wants the comfort of her underwear and her snuggly bed.
It’s an ending that struck a chord in me as I, too, long for comfort when the days are busy and tiring, when I’m sick of all that is lousy in the world, and those times I’ve been sick of being sick. I want to take off my restricting clothes, feel the slick satin of my night clothes against my skin, the luxurious softness of sheets and pillows and a comforter that soothe away all my stresses, till I blissfully leave my troubles behind for the comfort of sleep--just like Princess Bess.
Now I’ll gift the book to another baby girl, to be read to her as I read it to my girl, over and over and over again, never tiring of the colorful drawings that wash over you, the lively words that lead you through a princess’s busy day, to an ending that never ceases to surprise the delighted child, and the adult who clearly gets the message.