Hey Hard Day Hero—

This image encapsulates much of my week.

I made it through the front doors of 8 Fenway Tuesday morning thinking, “Is this what frostbite feels like? I think this is what frostbite feels like.”

I said hello to Chris who commandeers the lobby desk of the Conservatory like a friendly, short-haired mage who drops [r]s and available room knowledge with equal munificence.

I wound my way back to the side of the building where my studio sits on the 4th floor only to see a very able bodied student shouldering their way into the cramped, slow elevator I coulda used that morning. 

The stairs it would be. I climbed and thought, “Why don’t they label the second floor 2.75 because of that extra flight they throw in for funsies?”

I finally completed the ascent to my studio.

Only I couldn’t see through my glasses because mask fog ?. I popped my specs on top of my head, dropped my two bags, peeled off my coat and unwrapped my scarf.

Only when I did, my muffler caught the temple tip of my defogging lenses, and the next thing I knew I heard the distinctive clack of my Warby Parkers on the tile floor. 

I also cracked my phone screen an hour later that morning when trying to position it on a music stand for a self-tape because, duh, I left my tripod on my desk at home.

All this cracking reminded me of my conversation with Chris that morning. She was reading her new library book, and I asked her what the latest literature was. 

It was a bestseller mystery series about a guy named Inspector Gamache (of course, I thought she said ganache) called How the Light Gets In. 

 “Oh, like the Leonard Cohen song,” I said.

“Yeah,” said my Massachusetts mystic, “They talk about the song in the book.”

I was referencing Cohen’s song, “Anthem” that says,

“Ring the bells that still can ring.
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything.
That’s how the light gets in.” 

Don’t you hate that, too?

I mean, there’s the initial comfort of oh, phew, my busted self gets some light shone in there because I’m banged up like a dragged-across-the-patio-too-many-times terra cotta pot.

Then there’s the part that wants to source my own C batteries for my survival kit flashlight, thank you very much. 

This week I been busted, cracked, and as my British friends say so beautifully, shattered. 

And Mr. Cohen was right. That is how the light gets in, dammit.

Through Cathy, Tom, and Stanley who sent us soup, rolls and cookies with a sage quote from Cookie Monster:

and through my college musical theatre class who sent us this gorgeous peace lily

and the perfect words

Through a seaside therapy day trip to Melissa-Lee’s Little Rhody-

Through more light rays shining into the cracks this week than I can name.

I’m grateful.

Where are some light sources giving you some needed sunshine this week? I’d love for you to notice how that phototherapy feels on those busted up zones. 

I’m finding more and more those are the places of illumination entry.

Sending you my care bear stares today, and reminding you that there’s only one you, and folks need to hear the song that only you can sing. ?

Love much, 
Dan

ps I have to show you a few more pics from Warwick, RI today.

pps If you ever want to send someone gourmet soup and rolls that’ll make them feel really loved and cared for, Spoonful of Comfort is a great place to look. And the cookies are delish, too. 

ppps Here’s a link to Anthem by Leonard Cohen, Live in London