E T T Y - Q U E T T E

And so I begin again. Again, I begin again. I do not know if every beginning has the same point of departure, or if there is some distance, however minimal, between these points. All I know is that I must begin again, and that I must hope. Could it be that this in itself is part of my soul curriculum? If so, what middah is so woefully out of kilter that I must be confronted with it at every step, at the beginning of the beginning--or even before? If this kind of failure, a failure that it is the warp to the woof of the process of seeking growth, adjustment, becoming-whole, points at one challenge, it is ANAVAH, humility. Like many, I always assumed that those of us who are shy, lack social skill (not to say, graces!!), live in constant self-doubt and with the firm conviction of our inadequacy, are somehow immune from the qualities at the other end of the continuum: hubris, self-aggrandizement, arrogance. But it is not so. In fact, were it not for those feelings of haughtiness,

If I had a cigarette, today I would smoke it. I haven't smoked in many years, but I'd show you what a grieving woman can do with a pack of tobacco and some papers!! All I have is a bottle of sherry. All I had was a bottle of sherry. For so many decades you sang for me. Sang my sadness and my loneliness and my despair. Now, what shall I do with these feelings? I loved you when I was 16, and I have loved you every day since. (As have millions of other women, of course) I am almost old now, and you have left me. How could you! How could you. Hineini, Mr. Cohen, didn't you hear me shouting, take me along! You probably never knew that we were born on the same day, you and I, the man with the golden voice and the woman who can't sing. I knew your friend Irving Layton, and you'll be having a laugh with him soon. Say hello for me. So much darkness. I will cut my hair. I will never be afraid again. I will stand tall. I will speak my mind. Hell, I will sing, my Lo