The Gospel According To Right This Very Moment


November 11th, 2016

It is November 11, 2016 and the United States has a new president-elect – a vicious, conscienceless, misogynistic xenophobe with an attention span that makes me look like a Zen monk.  But life is good. The days are warm here in Los Angeles, the autumn sun strong, penetrating, two or three leaves have turned.

Leonard Cohen died a couple days ago and so I am listening to Raul Esparza sing Hallejulah. I am listening again and again to different versions: Mr. Esparza a couple times (beautiful, heartfelt, huge), a Yiddish version, the man himself.

There is a feeling pushing to emerge, to come to the surface, to reveal itself like a flower that bursts forth from a bud and then slowly opens its petals to become a new thing. The feeling is Christmas but the buds will remain unopened again this year, my joy and excitement at what was my favourite time of year again not realized. No close family, a few friends, but no one to spend the season with, no place to bake my grandmother’s and my aunt’s traditional Christmas cookies. I think I still have the recipes floating in my mother’s tattered and battered cook book. I have a ribbon around it to keep it from falling apart. It’s in a drawer under the stapler and the guarantee from Best Buy for my printer. I like to keep it close even though I don’t really cook but it was hers for the whole of my memory of her. I have brought none of my books with me here to L.A. but I do have my mother’s cookbook.