I think the Daily Bitch is freaking adorable and that’s why I share that calendar with freaking adorable people.
Today I’m going to attend a Zoom conference with some fellow freaking adorable group therapists. Tonight, for the first time since the start of the freaking pandemic, I’m going to attend an in-person party for the freaking adorable Northeastern Society for Group Psychotherapy. I’m not freaking out about that because the party is mostly outside and I’ll wear this freaking adorable mask whenever I’m inside:
After all we’ve been through, we’re probably not as freaking adorable as we used to be, but I think we’re freaking adorable enough.
I hope you enjoy my other freaking adorable images for today.
It’s freaking adorable that the National Day Calendar sends you a puppy when you ask about a National Day that doesn’t exist (like National Fred Day or National Ann Day).
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “freaking adorable.”
I think this comment about that video is freaking adorable:
By the way, I’m very close to 30,000 freaking adorable followers on Twitter and I’ll be sharing this video when I hit that freaking amazing number.
I look forward to your freaking adorable comments, below.
Thanks to everyone who is freaking adorable, including YOU!
I keep learning every day and I try to share some of that learning in this blog.
Yesterday, in a therapy session, somebody compared learning self-acceptance to maintaining a home. While we might wish that our hard work is finally done, we learn to keep recommitting to the upkeep, which is never finished.
I have to say that what I’m learning about my country can be very scary and discouraging. I hope that people in the USA are learning that they have to vote in November if they care about the future of their country and the world.
Do you see learning in my images for today?
Here’s what I find on YouTube when I search for “learning.”
Thanks to all who support my learning, including YOU.
Gliding past President Donald Trump’s sexist depictions of her as “mean” and “nasty,” the senator from California shredded Trump’s White House record with the agility that comes from her years as a courtroom prosecutor. Yet she delivered those critiques with bright notes of hope and optimism — accentuated by the smiles that are expected from female politicians.
… and because of this mask:
I’m also thinking of the smiles (and other facial expressions) I’ve been having about “We Have Her Back” , a memo sent by a coalition of powerful women to the news media calling for anti-sexist and anti-racist reporting, which includes this:
“Women have been subject to stereotypes and tropes about qualifications, leadership, looks, relationships and experience. Those stereotypes are often amplified and weaponized for Black and Brown women.”
I smile thinking how often the current President of my group therapy organization and I tell each other that we’ve got each others backs. I also smile thinking about this bag I gave her last year:
Now, my smiles are related to all the pre-pandemic photos I went through in order to find that one.
I am no longer able to say that I never saw that before. It’s been no longer than 55 years that I’ve known Carl Reiner and Mel Brooks as comic geniuses.
Mel Brooks, who describes himself on Twitter as “Writer, Director, Actor, Producer and Failed Dairy Farmer” and who no longer can have dinner every night with his old friend and co-writer Carl Reiner, posted this no-longer-than-280-character tribute yesterday:
Carl was a giant, unmatched in his contributions to entertainment. He created comedy gems like The Dick Van Dyke Show, The Jerk, and Where’s Poppa? I met him in 1950 when he joined Sid Caesar on Your Show of Shows, and we’ve been best friends ever since. I loved him. When we were doing The 2000 Year Old Man together there was no better straight man in the world. So whether he wrote or performed or was just your best friend — nobody could do it better. He’ll be greatly missed. A tired cliché in times like this, but in Carl Reiner’s case it’s absolutely true. He will be greatly missed.
It took me no longer than a few seconds to find this great photo of Carl Reiner, Annie Reiner, and Mel Brooks that was taken no longer than two days away from Mel Brooks’s 94th birthday and Carl Reiner’s death day:
I hope it is no longer debatable in this country that black lives matter.
I am no longer worried about other people’s incorrect assumptions or my inadvertent miscommunications, like Mel Brooks’s birthday and Carl Reiner’s death day being the same day (which they aren’t — they are one day apart).
This post is no longer focusing on words as I share my images from yesterday:
I am no longer expecting comments but I will welcome any you choose to make.
It takes no longer than one word to express heart-felt gratitude.
Last night, before we were fortunate enough to see “Parasite” — an incredible movie about the fortunes of families from very different classes — Michael and I got bubble-gum fortunes at a restaurant nearby.
While I wasn’t fortunate enough to get a comic and fortune that was cut properly, Michael was.
If I had been fortunate enough to get that fortune about being anxious to achieve something very important and succeeding, I would have greatly appreciated that view of such a fortunate future.
Earlier that morning, I was fortunate enough to capture the images of birds flying around and around our home, casting shadows on the blinds.
Later in the day, I was fortunate enough to attend a beautiful memorial ceremony for my beloved colleague Deb Carmichael.
I believe all of us at the memorial service felt fortunate to have the opportunity to write down on those index cards our thoughts about our good fortune in knowing Deb, so we could share those with Deb’s family.
I felt fortunate when one of the speakers at the memorial service quoted something I often say:
The pain of the loss is directly proportional to the importance of the connection.
We were all fortunate to hear a song that Deb had personally chosen to be sung at her memorial service by a member of our shared professional organization and home: The Northeastern Society for Group Psychotherapy. While you won’t be fortunate enough to hear that rendition today, here is the song:
I feel fortunate that I can share my other photos from yesterday with you, here and now:
Please be grateful for every fortunate moment we get to share together.
Yesterday, when I was being a little bit different than anybody else I know, I noticed this:
and I knew that “a little bit different” was a little bit different from any other blog title I’d used before in the past six-and-a-half years.
When I looked at all my other photos from yesterday …
…they were all a little bit different, so I knew I would use that title for today’s blog post.
This morning, I realized that this post might be a little bit different from most published today by not mentioning Father’s Day up front. And then, when I looked at my photos again with a little bit different perspective, I realized they all related to my father. I guess I see them that way because I’m related to my father and we are both a little bit different.
My late father was humble and kind.
He cared much more about other people than he did about money …
… but he worked very, very hard to be a good provider for his family.
He had a beautiful singing voice and was very musical. He bought us a piano when my sister and I were young.
My father paid for piano lessons for his little-bit-different daughters but never learned to play himself. That calendar photo of the dog playing piano (which is a little bit different) arrived yesterday in the mail from my wonderful cousin, Lani. Lani, like the rest of us, is a little bit different and she also loved my father.
Lani, and everybody else who knew my father, would say that my father was incredibly funny, although they might tell that story in a little bit different ways. My dad told me he wrote little-bit-different rhymes for his high school year book, including this memorable one (which is a little bit different from totally kind):
Jerry is a drummer rare.
If he didn’t play, we wouldn’t care.
Perhaps you can see his influence in this little-bit-different certificate I’ll be presenting later this week to an exiting board member of my group therapy professional organization:
When I was very young, my father moved us to a little-bit-different home which was a block away from the ocean, on the North Shore of Boston. I’m now living on the little-bit-different South Shore of Boston.
I think my father would have noticed the irony in that little-bit-different last photo in that sea-side montage.
My father was a life-long Democrat and so am I, although we were a little bit different in our politics.
That very different photo reminds me of my father in several little bit different ways. He brought home all the different magazines from the pharmacy he owned but never ridiculous rags like The Globe or the National Enquirer. Also, he would sometimes ask my different friends this little question, “Are your parents still together?” Leave it to my father to throw in little-bit-different conversation starters when talking to my friends.
Harley, pictured there, reminds me a lot of Tuffy, in looks and in temperament although, of course, they’re a little bit different. My dad and I used to play a little-bit-different game with Tuffy, where we would sit on the floor in the kitchen and roll back and forth little-bit-different balls made of Challah bread, with Tuffy trying to catch them. Tuffy, who was a little bit different in her taste in treats, would catch the bread balls and eat them.
My father was a married to a clean freak …
… who was a little bit different from most clean freaks by letting us sit on the floor and toss bread balls back and forth with our cat. My father had this little-bit-different joke he used to tell about my mother:
I got up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and when I got back Weezie had made the bed.
Leave it my father to tell a joke that was a little-bit-different from the truth, even though he was impeccable with his word.
I took driver’s education in high school, but my memories of learning to drive are all of my father.
My father was one of Boston’s safest drivers (which believe me, is not saying much) and because of him, I am a safe driver, too.
After my father retired, he and my mother travelled abroad …
… but I don’t think they made it to Barcelona. My traveling has been a little bit different but I haven’t been to Barcelona, although I did travel to Spain with my beloved friend Jeanette. I have memories of Jeanette and my father getting along really well, although they were a little bit different from each other (but who isn’t?). Maybe someday I’ll make it to Barcelona, which I understand is a little bit different from the rest of Spain.
My father grew up in an Orthodox Jewish household and so did I, although our upbringings were a little bit different. Whenever we ate out, we only had fish or meatless dishes.
My father was sensitive to other people’s feelings and was pretty sensitive himself. We hurt each other a few times in our lives, but we always forgave each other, keeping the connection alive as long as he was.
I only heard my father swear once, and that was when he was very angry about a young man who had hurt me when I was in my early 20’s.
My father took care of much of what grew on our property when I was growing up, as my little-bit-different boyfriend Michael does today.
My father had a wonderful smile, which he did not keep to himself.
Actually, neither of those animals really evoke my father, but this one does:
I think my father and I were a little bit nuts, in a little bit different ways, but who isn’t?
Also, I have vivid memories of my father on Saturdays eating pistachio nuts, which he was nuuuuuuuttssss about.
My father had a wonderful zest for life, which I believe I’ve inherited. Yay!
I’ve tried to color in some details about my father in this little-bit-different post, which is not by the numbers and which attempts to capture the magic of my Dad. I hope it’s no mystery why I miss my father, every little-bit-different day.