I have two younger half-sisters whom I have come to like well enough over the years to call “sisters.” It is convenient nomenclature, avoiding, as it does, the occasional wise guy who can add: “You mean you have one whole sister . . . ha,ha.” Since my sisters live with their families outside Boston and I live in New York, our connections are sporadic and possibly more friendly because of distance. We share a deceased father and a secret willingness to forgive most, if not all, of what needs forgiving among us.
An Interview With Tai-Chi Teacher Jay Dunbar
I’d been taking dance all my life — first ballet, then modern — so when I signed up for Tai-Chi, I thought of it as a dance class with all the attendant sweat, joys, and wear and tear on the body. At first Tai-Chi seemed tame and slow — no one was doing pirouettes in front of the mirrors. During one of those early classes, Jay Dunbar, my teacher, said something that caught my attention immediately: “Until people are thirty, they work on building up their muscles. When they get older, it’s more important to build inner strength. That’s what Tai-Chi is all about.”
In The Composing Room
Now leo says that of course we will get together again. He calls me on the telephone from seven-eleven parking lots long-distance and says that he loves me and he sends me a hundred dollars a month to keep his name on the mailbox, he in fact spends great parts of his poet-in-the-schools money to drive from galveston to dallas for weekends of love-making and whispered reassurances and barbequed chicken crowded around the little kitchen table with me and the three kids like he is simply a commuting husband and this family is really his.