Dayna Macy’s Blog

On the last day of 2009, I finished my first draft of “Ravenous”. I am happy, but I know there’s miles to go. It will need editing, of course, and I started doing just that on the first day of 2010. I feel like I’m on mile 18 of a marathon, but my husband, Scott, who has written two books, tells me it’s more like being on mile 22, which cheered me up.

All support is warmly welcome. But please, don’t ask me if I’m going to get on Oprah or if I think it will be a bestseller. Not if you still want to be my friend

I just had a talk with my son Jack. A real talk. The kind you hope you can have in your life with anyone, let alone your own child.

“Why is it that the so many of the people who changed the world end up getting killed?” he asked. “Martin Luther King, Anwar Sadat, John Kennedy…” his eyes look sad and lost.
“Why is it this world can be so beautiful, but some people can be so evil?”

I want to answer him, so his ten year old heart doesn’t hurt more than it already does. But right now, I’m at a loss for words.

In Strategy and Business Magazine, Steven Levy, author of “Hackers,” called Scott’s book “the best technology related business book of the year.”

I scored a ticket to Cohen’s only Bay Area performance this Friday. My friend Ronna is a friend of his, and she invited me. It was Cohen’s song, “Hallelujah,” that inspired me to take up the piano again. It just might be the most beautiful song I’ve ever heard.

At dinner tonight, we somehow got on to the topic of the meaning of life. Here’s what my ten year old boys had to say:

“To make the world better for the next generation.” — Jack

“To be happy when you’re happy, and sad when you’re sad.” — Matthew

That’s what the fine publisher of the Yoga Journal Russian edition wrote on the birthday card she sent me, along with a beautiful bouquet of flowers.

For several years, I’ve had this dream about returning to the East Coast (where I’m from), and renting a cabin for a month in the Fall. I want to write while watching the trees turn brilliant shades of gold and red.

Next week I’ll live a more modest version of that dream. I rented an apartment in Nyack, overlooking the Hudson River. While there, I will be interviewing some folks for “Ravenous,” my book, including the fine folks at Camp Hill Farm, and the writer Joan Gussow. I will also be catching up with my friends Lisa and Denise, who own a groovy store in Nyack called Sign of the Times.

Can you go home again? That’s something I explore in my book, and something I will know more about in a week when I return.

David Letterman’s on-air discussion of his affairs with staffers and the subsequent extortion plot was the weirdest thing I’ve seen in a long time. He just couldn’t make the grown-up leap to apologize to all those for whom his actions might have caused harm. He didn’t need to crucify himself, but what happened just isn’t funny and trying to make it humorous was just awkward and bizarre.

I am finishing up a three day fast, which I’m writing about for my book. I thought I would freak out and to my deep surprise, haven’t. I’m not done with it yet, nor have I gathered all my thoughts about these past few days, but I do have have one insight: sometimes the pictures we have of what will happen are just that, pictures. And sometimes, they are only as real as we allow them to be.

To all my kind friends who have called and emailed, no, I’m not in London. No, I haven’t been mugged. And no, I don’t need money.

My Facebook page was hacked into this morning and is in the process of being taken down.

The good news is, I’m reconnecting with old friends. My friend Phil called me and said that in the IM he had with the scammers he commented, “Geez Dayna, you’re English is getting awfully rough.” And when my friend King told them to screw off, scam artists, they wrote, “Fuck You”. He emailed and said “the mouth on that Dayna.”

And I Just had a lovely talk with my friend Dan Fost, whom I first met when he covered Tech for the SF Chronicle. He told me he’s writing a book on the SF Giants. We promised to buy each others books, even though I’m not interested in baseball, and he’s not interested in food memoir.

To all my dear friends, thank you.