Three things from DAH. 

DAH is me, David Anthony Hance. "To sleep—perchance to dream. Ay, there's the rub!"

First up this week, Perchance …  
My first perchance is anything ascribed to my wife. Christine Hance is C Hance, or CHance. If she tells me something, I have that knowledge "per CHance." But my second perchance casts doubt upon my wife's words. Merriam-Webster offers the uncertain "perhaps" and "possibly" to define perchance. My second perchance is thus potentially wobbly. My third perchance is most hopeful, leaving wobbly "perhaps" and "possibly" behind and seizing possibility instead. I can optimistically speak, bright-eyed, "Peace, perchance, per CHance!"
Perchance Theatre -- The Power of One
(Video monologues from every Shakespeare play by Newfoundland and Labrador performers in some of the province's most stunning locations … pretty cool, I thought)

Second up this week, Peace …  
Wouldn't it be nice? A world of peace, a life of peace. I haven't a clue how to make such peace beyond magical thinking. I can identify means to pacify. Mostly means to self-pacify. I think about the good times that have been, without worrying too much about what times (good or bad) might yet be. I spend time with my best friends, or recall such times. Times that hold the anxieties and worries of the world at bay. No matter what's disturbing the peace beyond me and my besties, when we're together we really might overcome.
Why We Reach for Nostalgia in Times of Crisis

Third up this week, Peaches …  
The season of the peach is close. The earliest California fresh peaches come in May. When ripe, these fuzzy freestones are my favorite flavor. Studying up, I learned that while Georgia is rightly proud of its peaches, California grows more of the fruit than the other 32 peach-growing states combined. Plus, there's a sweet CHance connection. When friend Bob Currier learned that CHance and I were a thing, he said, "That's great! She's a peach!" Then he sang out, "Ripe, strawberries, ripe!" He always sang this when he came across CHance. She sang that short line in a Currier-directed production of Oliver! long before we were a thing. Soon, soon, I hope she'll sing "Ripe, peaches are ripe!." 
Why Do The French Say "Avoir la pêche"

A Book I'm About to Read Again: Epitaph for a Peach: Four Seasons on My Family Farm, by David Mas Masumoto
Yeah, it's a book from the 1990s that influenced me greatly.
"The book follows Masumoto's yearlong attempt not just to keep his Sun Crest [peaches] alive but to 'farm a new way, working with and not against, nature.' It seems clear to him from the start that 'this year will decide my fate,' and somehow, thanks largely to the quiet eloquence of his writing, we know our own destiny is somehow wrapped up in the future of those peaches, too." —San Francisco Chronicle


And a bit more:

From Blossoms, by Li-Young Lee

From blossoms comes
this brown paper bag of peaches
we bought from the boy
at the bend in the road where we turned toward   
signs painted Peaches.

From laden boughs, from hands,
from sweet fellowship in the bins,
comes nectar at the roadside, succulent
peaches we devour, dusty skin and all,
comes the familiar dust of summer, dust we eat.

O, to take what we love inside,
to carry within us an orchard, to eat
not only the skin, but the shade,
not only the sugar, but the days, to hold
the fruit in our hands, adore it, then bite into   
the round jubilance of peach.

There are days we live
as if death were nowhere
in the background; from joy
to joy to joy, from wing to wing,
from blossom to blossom to
impossible blossom, to sweet impossible blossom.


And that's all for this week.
From Mary Oliver’s poem Sometimes …  

Instructions for living a life:
Pay attention.
Be astonished.
Tell about it. 

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