My Tango Diaries

Of all the things to make me write . . . Such terrible news today. Phoebe Snow has died. An amazing voice and such a beautiful soul, gone too soon. When I was 16, I was sure, as most 16 year olds are, that my mother was from another planet. I was sure she didn't know what I was going through. How bad things were. She couldn't possibly understand what I was feeling. She, by that point I'm sure, had to be tired of trying to get me to talk about things. She just passed by my room and said, 'you may like this.' Phoebe Snow Second Childhood. The whole album played and I listened, trying not to look like I was listening. Like I didn't care. I think I said something like, 'nice voice' or something. I went back to my room, closed the door, and cried and cried. Not out of sadness, but out of relief. Not only did this mean that my mom, patiently building new paths to me, understood. But this woman, who moved (and still moves) my mom in such profound ways, underst

still here. still dancing. there's been a break in the clouds, but the storm's still hanging around. I breathe in the tandas and it gets me through the week. Just keep on keepin' on. I've run the gamut. A to Z. Three cheers and dammit, C'est la vie. I got through all of last year And I'm here. -- Stephen Sondheim, "I'm Still Here" from Follies .