Escape from Cleveland: A Melodrama

On November 4, 2022, five character actors drove to the airport having recently completed a week-long workshop at the Cleveland Playhouse of Ken Ludwig's latest play, Moriarty: a Sherlock Holmes Mystery. The week had been splendid. A group of hilarious, intelligent Broadway veterans gathered together to exchange ideas, perfect a play with one of the most collaborative playwrights in the world; plus shared several delicious meals, experiences and stories after rehearsal. 

What a week working (laughing--good GAWD the laughing) at Cleveland Playhouse with great friends and insanely gifted artists—directed by Mark Browkaw—working on a reading of Ken Ludwig's latest— MORIARTY giving 12 or so comic tertiary or five, and Irene Adler to old pal Santino Fontana's Sherlock Holmes. 

All in all: the week was a great success. Behold our happiness post reading: 

cast + creatives of the pre-production of "Moriarty" at Cleveland Playhouse

But THEN! Then: the following morning, the cast of five-- a merry band of players-- all headed to the airport to catch the 12:15 Delta flight from Cleveland to LaGuardia. And that, my friends, is where the plot thickened...

But as if daily laughs and nightly meals weren’t enough, there’s more. All 5 actors arrived at the airport Friday morning to learn our flight to NYC was CANCELLED by Delta.
 
So instead of moping, we made lemonade outta lemons, rented an SUV and? 5 CHARACTER ACTORS DROVE FROM CLEVELAND TO NYC FOR AN IMPROMPTU ROAD TRIP!
 
We didn’t turn the radio on once, because we were talking and laughing and getting real and laughing so much. Thank you Ken Ludwig and Cleveland Playhouse for bringing us together. And thank you Santino, Andy Groteluschen, Pun Bandhu and Jill Abramowitz for the forever-memory—this gig was one for the BOOKS.

PS) the whole road trip is a highlight in my “stories” titled “ESCAPE FROM CLEVELAND!” About 5 mins. Worth it. 

Election, 2020

 Thank actual G-d.

Things I want to remember about this week 8/10 - 8/17, 2020: A List

 - Leaving a Pittsfield Mass Walgreen and seeing a man with a baby stroller buying 27 cans of Fruit Punch flavored Arizona ice tea… and in the baby stroller was not a baby? But a CAGED SQUIRREL

- Talking with Alec about expanding buying a car! (An adorable vintage 1985 BMW 528e we are named Brunhilde thankyouverymuch)

- Hearing the story of Alexandra and Etai getting engaged (eeeeee)

- The appointment of Kamala Harris as Joe Biden's 2020 running-mate. (HERSTORY!)

- SINGING IN A REHEARSAL ROOM FOR THE FIRST TIME SINCE MARCH 13 2020 and having absolutely zero words to describe the 10,000 sensations. 

One second it’s:

“OH MY GOD THE THEATRE!!!!”

The next:

“This isn’t the same... will it EVER be the same?”

The next:

“But I’m HERE!”

The next:

“Will I DIE?! Is this safe?"

- COVID-negative approved HUGS

- The extremely grouchy man at the wonderful Round Tuit

- Face-timing with Katie and Alan and Tom 

- Drinks and deep talks with Alysha and Storm (defining the very special joys of out-of-town theatre)

- Socially-distant visits with friends I haven't seen in what feels like years! 

- Making art. However cautiously. 

- Bringing my vocal chords together to make music. Incredibly emotionally.

- Parting from Alec for the first time in 145 days (and when we parted, weeping like a toddler being dropped off on the first ever day of school)

Truly: WTF.

In response to Pittsburgh

What happened today in Pittsburgh was a hate crime. Hate is hate. No hate crime is WORSE than another. People hate, act out and innocent human beings die at their hands. We have a global, systemic, hate disease.

I‘m aware that Ashkenazi Jews have had (what some might perceive as) the luxury of assimilating, & being able to “pass as white Europeans” for the last 60 years, but today is evidence that hate crimes still occur against Jews—all the time—by people still filled with bigotry.

Hate crimes stir ancient wounds for all oppressed people. There are echos. There are scars. They are very real.

 All we can do is keep fighting. And that means voting.

*

"Poem Without an End”
     by Yehuda Amichai, transl by Chana Bloch

Inside the brand-new museum

there’s an old synagogue.

Inside the synagogue is me.

Inside me my heart.

Inside my heart a museum.

Inside the museum a synagogue,

inside it me,

inside me my heart,

inside my heart a museum

Bless my homeland forever...

Bless my homeland forever. pic.twitter.com/1DuZWenu8V

— Alexandra Silber (@alsilbs) August 12, 2017

“The New Colossus” by Emma Lazarus

Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
“Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!” cries she
With silent lips. “Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tossed to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!”

'This is Prophetic!' from Nixon in China

'This is Prophetic!'
from Nixon in China 
Music by John Adams
Libretto by Alice Goodman

PAT
The children in the U.S.A. all say hello.
I used to be a teacher many years ago
and now I’m here to learn from you.

(Smiling and waving, Mrs. Nixon and her entourage
leave the commune and proceed to the next stop on her
tour: the Summer Palace where she is photographed
strolling through the Hall of Benevolence and
Longevity, the Hall of Happiness in Longevity,
the Hall of Dispelling the Clouds, and the Pavilion
of the Fragrance of Buddha. She pauses in the gate
of Longevity and Good Will to sing)

PAT
This is prophetic! I foresee a time will come when
luxury dissolves into the atmosphere like a perfume,
and everywhere the simple virtues root
and branch and leaf and flower.
On that bench there we’ll relax
and taste the fruit of all our actions.
Why regret life which is so much like a dream?
Let the eternal plan resume.
In the bedroom communities let us be taken by surprise.
Yes! Let the band play on and on,
let the stand-up comedian finish his act,
let Gypsy Rose kick off her high-heeled party shoes;
let interested businessmen speculate further,
let routine dull the edge of mortality.
Let days grow imperceptibly longer,
let the sun set in cloud;
let lonely drivers on the road pull over for a bite to eat,
let the farmer switch on the light over the porch,
let passer by look in at the large family
around the table, let them pass.
Let the expression on the face
of the Statue of Liberty change just a little,
let her see what lies inland:
across the plain one man is marching...
the Unknown Soldier has risen from his tomb,
let him be recognized at home.
The Prodigal. Give him his share:
the eagle nailed to the barn door.
Let him be quick.
The sirens wail as bride
and groom kiss through the veil.
Bless this union with all its might,
let it remain inviolate.

I've Been: Nov-Dec 2016

- Taking Tatiana to WORK! (Shhhh don't tell....)

- Trying to get involved in Snapchat (@alsilbs) and finding my ouvre in the "Sad Series" (posted as Sad Reindeer and Tzad Tzeitel on Instagram.)

- Making history with my fellow Americans

- Voting for our first female president of the United States of America! (#ImWithHer)

- Gathering myself, my personal and communal missions, and my hope, post-election.This is going to be hard, but I feel galvanized and motivated to care about my world in new ways. As Pericles stated, "Just because you do not take an interest in politics doesn't mean politics won't take an interest in you."

- Truly starting to feel like myself again, health wise...

- Enjoying the fruits of our labor (union) when our union won a #FairWageOnStage!

- Basking in the sheer, unadulterated badassery of my mom, MamaSilbs

Fiddler LONDON cast!

- Singing at Joe's Pub with (the Noel Coward to my Gerturde Lawrence) Lance Horne

- Enjoying a Fiddler-London reunion at Joe's Pub!


- Bidding farewell to our original Mama extraordinaire, Jessica Hecht

- Welcoming the one and only (4-time Tony nominee, original Broadway Cosette,Betty, Svetlana and Mrs. Bechdel, VOICE OF POCHA-FREAKIN-HONTAS, and good friend) Judy Kuhn as our new Golde.

Don't be jealous.

- Reading reading reading:
     - The Art of Seduction by Robert Greene
     - The Magical Chorus by Solomon Volkov
     - The Art of Memoir by Mary Karr
     - Murder on the Orient Express by Agatha Christie
     - The Art of Possibility by Rosamund Stone Zander , Benjamin Zander 
(I highly recommend listening to the authors read this on Audible.comthere are dozens of musical examples that are present in the audio version that enhance the experience immensely!)

 - OMFG OMFG: Enjoying my 'Murder, She Wrote' makeup bag (purchased from Etsy)

- Having the honor of witnessing my soulmate friend Amy Jo Jackson get married in NYC. She was an authentic and glittering bride. 


- And also sharing some wonderful memories with dear friend Nikka Lanzarone (which included going over her maid-of-honor speech in the creepy AF train car of The McKittrick Hotel...)

- Decorating my "Christmakuh tree" with a dozen beautiful owl ornaments!

- Beholding the antics of MamaSilbs' Chloe the Cat


- Reveling in the final chapter of #TheCutestPregnantWomanOnBroadway!

- Closing Fiddler on the Roof on Broadway (GUYS: ...can you believe I was in Fiddler on the Roof ...on Broadway?)
. Saying goodbye to a very real and very dear new family that shall forever remain a part of the fabric of my psyche.



- The glow of Christmas

- The miracle of Hanukkah

- The joys of a New Year

- Mega New York City Snow!

- Starting a new chapter, with new values and lesson, in a new year of 2017

A Letter to my Beloved Students

Pandora.

Beloved babies, 

You have all been on my mind in the most profound way the last few difficult days. I can only imagine how shocking and frightening it has been for you, seeing your world churn in this way, feeling unsafe, and I am certain, afraid. 

I do not blame you. 

I want you to know that I keep my promises: you shall always have complete safety with, and and ally in, me.

So many of our shared memories have flooded through my mind in the last 72 hours: the now ever-more relevant themes of Electra and her struggles, the house of Oedipus, our ever-more prescient Trojan Women, the Hope remaining in Pandora's jar. Every single one of the plays we made together are ancient, and the ancients have been warning us of life's joys and horrors  for 4000 years.

But above all, I thought of Spoon River. 

People. Just people. Ordinary Americans with a myriad of pasts, needs, goals, myths, and pains--Americans who have just endured the First World War, with differing views, beliefs, politics and outlooks... yet there they all are, sharing the hill.

I am so proud to have been any part of your lives; you know how much you have always meant to and given me, and it is an honor to start to call you friends and not just students. Our paths are intrinsically intertwined and I felt compelled to share this moment with you. You are the future. 

Every night this week, the themes of Fiddler have been chilling in their relevance, but still we serve, and the catharsis of that collective, shared service has been a source of healing for the artists and the audience. That is what theatre has always been there for in society. You are the lucky servants, and we are the creators of the present and future. We have a job to do, we must serve to change the darkness that seems to swallow our world.

For freedom isn’t free, my loves. It blooms by the blood of those who seek it, and those who protect it against forces that would take it away. Artists have just been given the greatest role of all: to fight with our stories, our acceptance, our empathy. To lead with our understanding, our temperance and our tolerance for and of others, but intolerance of hatred and evil. That is NOT political. That is human. And as artists we are tasked by representing that humanity. 

Do not despair, create.

Do not destroy, serve.

Do not raise your fists in anger, reach your palms across the divide in an attempt to understand.

That takes courage, that takes dignity.

Be bigger than your opponents.

Love more than you could ever be hated.

And on the note of love:

I love you.

I love you truly.

I think love is the best super power we have, and I am sending all of mine to you for you each are beautiful beacons of hope; there will never be words for the gifts you have given me, and I hope I have given you a 1/100th in return.

Remember my babies;
The good we do.
How much we create.
The respect we bestow.
How hard we love—no one gets to vote on these.

With every last fiber of my heart,

Al

xx


Song of the Builders by Mary Oliver

On a summer morning
I sat down
On a hillside
To think about God

A worthy pastime.
Near me, I saw
A single cricket;
It was moving the grains of the hillside

This way and that way.
How great was it's energy,
How humble it's effort.
Let us hope

It will always be like this,
Each of us going on
In our own inexplicable ways
Building the universe. 

'Resume' by Dorothy Parker

Razors pain you;

Rivers are damp;

Acids stain you;

And drugs cause cramp;

Guns aren’t lawful;

Nooses give;

Gas smells awful;

You might as well live.

A Trip to Ellis Island

An incredible journey. My fellow cast members Michael Bernardi, George Psomas and I ventured out to Ellis Island​ first thing in the morning to explore our personal and character’s family history at the world's foremost symbol of Welcome. Here's to the Land of the Free. 

May we remain a country of Welcome. 

Making the most of "The Meanwhile"

Sometimes, you just have to get away with your very favo(u)rite people. The kind of people who remind you that a constant flow of meaningful conversations, laughter, observations and easy silences are all that is required for a marvelous day. Elizabeth ("El Stans") and I tumbled into a Red Jeep known simply as "Lucille" (as in Ball, yes, thank you for asking) early in the AM with a GPS, a rough sketch of a day in the Berks, and two hearts full of friend-love. It was so fantastic I couldn't resist another adventure with Kit ("Comrade Baker") the following weekend.

There were also gorgeous stretches of countryside, miles of endless American highways, singing in harmony to a perfectly cultivated "Roadtrip Mix," walks in the woods, waterfalls, fresh air, visual art, music, penny candies shared from the town general store, coffee, art stores, mini history lessons, nature meditations, and a few incredible meals.

Like I said, sometimes you just have to get away, and the journey doesn't have to be complicated. In fact, sometimes, the simpler the better.

Cherish your friends, Reader.
And make the most of "The Meanwhile."
Because life is The Meanwhile. 
Make it count...

the door to the lenox library; lenox, MA

I stayed alert with a "red eye"-- a drip coffee with an extra shot of espresso

our chariot: "Lucille"

serious country breakfast in millerton, ny

El Stans watching the river at Taconic State Park

Beautiful Bash Bish falls

an unexpected treasure-trove of emotions and learning at The Norman Rockwell Museum. Pictured here is his final studio in Stockbridge, Mass.

Comrade pet the bunny at the farmer's store

...the bunny...

Shaker Village

Chapin Music Hall

breathtaking country views

Images: Spring to Summer Adventures

Images from the last few months. Spring and Summer in the land of the free. Delicious return to London. Magical weddings in Oxford and Richmond. Adventures at Coney Island. Friends and family all over the planet. Priceless.

Images from New York...

“Each man reads his own meaning into New York”
--Meyer Berger

“When it's three o'clock in New York, it's still 1938 in London.”

--Bette Midler

I've been:

writing 6 chapters in 48 hours...
...after a proper writer's freak out
...and sending all of this to poor louise (See: gratitude number 26)

exploring the sublime new york city

being taken to friends' favorite places

rekindling old friendships (leah, michael, dane, nick, kenn, flagg, alex, ari, ben, bergen, santino, jessica, adam, rachel... and so many more) I'm so so lucky!

and discovering new ones
...especially in the unlikeliest of places

kicking professional butt!!

auditioning like a crazy person

...thanks to Jeff, who is showing me such angelic care (and thanks to Ruthie, for introducing us)

seeing great theatre
...in fact opening weeping in the third row centre of bond and wolverine's foray

saying the word "Ninja" a LOT

eating amazing new york food

...and then delighting in walking it off as I fly around the city on foot!

reveling in this fact: peanut butter at my beck and call!

discovering my "inner north" (I DO have a sense of direction!!) as well as a total ease with this great and glorious city

sorting out the "zen" of santino's nederlander dressing room

very VERY cathartic "potato voodoo" with leah

fainting at joe's pub

totally honored by a TMA Award for best performance in a musical, what an utterly unexpected delight!

thinking a great deal about London and how there is, indeed, a life for me there in some way... and how it is so often that one must make a journey to discover these things...

savoring the Jewish high holidays and loving any opportunity for new beginnings

moving forward...

New York New York...

I would give the greatest sunset in the world for one sight of New York's skyline. Particularly when one can't see the details. Just the shapes. The shapes and the thought that made them. The sky over New York and the will of man made visible. What other religion do we need? And then people tell me about pilgrimages to some dank pesthole in a jungle where they go to do homage to a crumbling temple, to a leering stone monster with a pot belly, created by some leprous savage. Is it beauty and genius they want to see? Do they seek a sense of the sublime? Let them come to New York, stand on the shore of the Hudson, look and kneel. When I see the city from my window - no, I don't feel how small I am - but I feel that if a war came to threaten this, I would throw myself into space, over the city, and protect these buildings with my body.

-- Ayn Rand

* * *

Dear Readers,

I am about to go on a journey. Not your average holiday, return to Michigan shores, or trip being the Iron Curtain.

No.

This journey is the first step towards a journey of RETURN. A journey home.

For the next four months, I will be based in what many call "the greatest city on earth," The City That Never Sleeps, The Big Apple, The Capital of the World, Gotham, Empire City, The Melting Pot, or sometimes, simply, The City. Yes, dear readers, it is none other than New York.

I am going for a change of scene. I will plant some professional seeds, spread my wings a bit, focus on my super secret writing project (!!!), and return to a few old and very dear friendships that will aid in the nurturing, healing, and flourishing of this slightly depleted soul. Nothing can stop me, I am on my way. Ascension is the only direction in a city like New York, and I intend to ascend in whichever way the universe intends me to.

So. Bring on the Peanut Butter. Bring on the 24 hour diners, the river, the park, a real autumn and winter. Bring on red coats and weekends in Boston. Bring on Thanksgiving. Obama. America. Home.

So much in life doesn't matter. I don't care necessarily what life shall be, nor what it may or may not inflict upon me. I care about what Life IS.

And Life can have it's way with me. It won't break me. Neither you nor me. That determined faith in our own resilience is our only weapon against the cynical, the weak, those who talk of honor but do not practice the word they so loudly and vigorously screech.

Yes. Faith in ourselves; that quiet, steely belief in our capacity to endure and perhaps even thrive in the face of pain. The pain that perfects us, teaches us, heals and sculpts and defines us. Pain is breakthrough, if we have the courage to break through.

In the last 6 months, I have experienced things I have never felt before. Pain I never dreamed I would endure, and yet, I have taken it on with a certain delight. Sometimes one must experience pain past the point of principle on behalf of others. Sometimes our suffering is a matter and ingredient of unassailable personal dignity. the sufferer does not resist/submit/speak/remain silent for others, but for the Self. It is done. Then the Self has earned it's ascension. This power of the Self is the only banner we can hold against all the derailing messages of around us. That's all I need to know about the future.

I am going to New York because I feel a bold step is necessary now. And fortune favors the brave. Here I go. I promise to write.

"I took the tube over to Camden
To wander around
I bought some funky records
With that old Motown sound
And I miss you like my left arm
That's been lost in a war
Today I dream of home and not of London anymore..."

-- The Waifs, from "London Still"

Today: The Inauguration

For today, and for all the tomorrows to come...


hatred paralyzes life; love releases it. hatred confuses life; love harmonizes it. hatred darkens life; love illuminates it.

martin luther king jr.

Today: The Election

This is going to sound overly sentimental and I am aware of that.
But. Today.
Today is the beginning of a new world.
And though I missed that magic stateside, I was able to participate in an entirely different American experience: witnessing the international community rise up with overwhelming fervour for an Obama victory.
It was magic over here in an utterly different way.

So, that being said, I decided to purchase a copy of The Times for my children.
I don't know if I will have any, or if I do, how many I might have.
But I wanted to freeze this moment of hope, joy and almost unendurable pride I felt for the country I walked away from so many years ago, traveling the world in an attempt to discover a place that would match my ideals, ethics and deepest desires.
I thought I had turned my back on these ideals, but to refer to a passage I wrote earlier this year:

"A traveller. Perhaps that's it. Though my travels hardly feel worthy of comparison to those of the greats-- Rosalind's full circle to and from Arden, Bilbo Baggins' There and Back Again. I am no explorer like Vespucci, not romantic enough for a gypsy nor pious enough for a pilgrim. Ahh America. How I had forgotten you, and how I longed to remember. Was blind but now I see, (as they say). And though I know I am no great traveller of Shakespearean or Historical proportion, I share with them and with us all, a cardinal desire: all I have ever wanted is what we all long for-- a place in the world. A home."

The thing is, I wanted to be able to say to those children  
I was there that day, 
     I remember it. 
I was so proud to be alive to witness it. 
This copy of The Times marks it; 
     it was very very special 
and you are holding a piece of that day in your little hands.

The cover of The Times is a photograph of Barack Obama and the title reads "A New Dawn," and I bought it because it symbolises for me the thought that anything is possible, that the pursuit of a dream is not just a futile notion instilled in us to get us through the difficult hours of our days. That, to quote President Elect Obama himself,  

"we've proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth; but from the enduring nature of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope."

... and as I thumbed through the edition, I came across another image that moved me.
It was an advertisement for Carousel, containing a photograph of me from the production.
Right there,
     in the same edition of The Times.
The very paper I had saved for my future children to show them that anything is possible contains a photo of their mother;
who, with tremendous, unutterable gratitude, pursues her individual goals and dreams,
     and will someday teach them that
YES, THEY CAN.

They really can.

Today: The Election

This is going to sound overly sentimental and I am aware of that.
But. Today.
Today is the beginning of a new world.
And though I missed that magic stateside, I was able to participate in an entirely different American experience: witnessing the international community rise up with overwhelming fervour for an Obama victory.
It was magic over here in an utterly different way.

So, that being said, I decided to purchase a copy of The Times for my children.
I don't know if I will have any, or if I do, how many I might have.
But I wanted to freeze this moment of hope, joy and almost unendurable pride I felt for the country I walked away from so many years ago, traveling the world in an attempt to discover a place that would match my ideals, ethics and deepest desires.
I thought I had turned my back on these ideals, but to refer to a passage I wrote earlier this year:

"A traveller. Perhaps that's it. Though my travels hardly feel worthy of comparison to those of the greats-- Rosalind's full circle to and from Arden, Bilbo Baggins' There and Back Again. I am no explorer like Vespucci, not romantic enough for a gypsy nor pious enough for a pilgrim. Ahh America. How I had forgotten you, and how I longed to remember. Was blind but now I see, (as they say). And though I know I am no great traveller of Shakespearean or Historical proportion, I share with them and with us all, a cardinal desire: all I have ever wanted is what we all long for-- a place in the world. A home."

The thing is, I wanted to be able to say to those children  
I was there that day, 
     I remember it. 
I was so proud to be alive to witness it. 
This copy of The Times marks it; 
     it was very very special 
and you are holding a piece of that day in your little hands.

The cover of The Times is a photograph of Barack Obama and the title reads "A New Dawn," and I bought it because it symbolises for me the thought that anything is possible, that the pursuit of a dream is not just a futile notion instilled in us to get us through the difficult hours of our days. That, to quote President Elect Obama himself,  

"we've proved once more that the true strength of our nation comes not from the might of our arms or the scale of our wealth; but from the enduring nature of our ideals: democracy, liberty, opportunity, and unyielding hope."

... and as I thumbed through the edition, I came across another image that moved me.
It was an advertisement for Carousel, containing a photograph of me from the production.
Right there,
     in the same edition of The Times.
The very paper I had saved for my future children to show them that anything is possible contains a photo of their mother;
who, with tremendous, unutterable gratitude, pursues her individual goals and dreams,
     and will someday teach them that
YES, THEY CAN.

They really can.

"I've come to look for America..."

"Kathy," I said as we boarded a Greyhound in Pittsburgh
"Michigan seems like a dream to me now
It took me four days to hitchhike from Saginaw
I've come to look for America..."

-- Paul Simon

A traveller. Perhaps that's it. Though my travels hardly feel worthy of comparison to those of the greats-- Rosalind's full circle to and from Arden, Bilbo Baggins' there and back again. I am no explorer like Vespucci, not romantic enough for a gypsy nor pious enough for a pilgrim. Ahh America. How I had forgotten you, and how I longed to remember. Was blind but now I see, (as they say). And though I know I am no great traveller of Shakespearean or Historical proportion, I share with them and with us all, a cardinal desire: all I have ever wanted is what we all long for-- a place in the world. A home. 

I feel perhaps like Marco Polo in Italo Calvino's Invisible Cities... In Calvino's book, the great explorer Marco Polo entertains an aging Kubla Khan by recounting tales of 55 cities he has visited in his travels. As Marco Polo continues to impart his experiences, he, willingly or un, revels connections between the cities that leave the reader left to wonder whether the accounts of his destinations actually represent different aspects of a single city; a unique and unrivaled place, in Polo's case, his beloved Venice. 

Marco Polo thus embodies two classic symbolic travellers. First, Odysseus: the one who, either by force or by choice, denounces a home he does not realise he loves. He thus condemns himself to a life of wandering and homeless-ness, slowly losing sight and memory of the only place he longs to return to. 

"Memory's images, once they are fixed in words, are erased," Polo said. "Perhaps I am afraid of losing Venice all at once, if I speak of it. Or perhaps, speaking of other cities, I have already lost it, little by little."

Second, Dorothy: the one who seeks adventure abroad, only to discover their heart's desire was "in their own backyard" all along. 

"Each deserves a different name; perhaps I have already spoken of Irene under other names; perhaps I have spoken only of Irene."

Have I assumed myself the former only to discover I am, in fact, the latter? What bliss that truth would be! Have I travelled the world long enough? Have I in fact discovered home was always there, patiently waiting for me to earn and deserve it? Observing Calvino observing Venice is a reminder of how often the controlled, measured world of knowledge and assumption fails us. So much of life resists the facts. As Khan discovers: imagining a"Venice" is imagining yourself. And though an unsettling exercise, it is necessary, perhaps. I believe my trip to America and Home, was precisely that.

Welcome Home Al. 

I will return shortly. And new. 

"...what he sought was always something lying ahead, and even if it was a matter of the past it was a past that changed gradually as he advanced on his journey, because the traveler's past changes according to the route he has followed: not the immediate past, that is, to which each day that goes by adds a day, but the more remote past. Arriving at each new city the traveler finds again a past of his that he did not know he had: the foreignness of what you no longer are or no longer possess lies in waiting for you in foreign, not-yet-possessed places."

-- Italo Calvino