Wednesday, March 30, 2011

Turning It Over in My Mind

For the first time in my life, since the first church message board started putting up adages to edify us all (or get us to go to church), I found one to be profound and thought-provoking.

It read:

The soil does not get plowed
By turning it over in one's mind.

Well, hallelujah! Finally somebody--or some church pastor--is getting me off my duff and working. In the three days since I have seen that sign, I have finished the last of the painting, unpacked the last box, and cleaned up my whole house.

Now I can write. And that means you will see me a whole lot more often. Once I've completed some writing for the day, I'll be checking in here.

Hope you come back and visit as I rev it all up again! I have two play ideas, four novels to revise, and another five to write (so far). Lots of work, but finally I can do it!

Sunday, March 20, 2011


Anger wanes
With time
Unless we grasp onto it
With hate in our fingers
Bitterness pounding in our forehead
Resentment oozing from our skin
Like sweat
Selfish to prove others wrong
To be right instead of at peace.

Sorrow leaves us
As years pass
Unless we decide
We need to understand
The reason for it
Unless we need to find
That we have caused it in some way
That we can blame someone
For the tears

Let go of time
Release your pain and hate
For while you seek the
That do not exist
You lose
The time you have
For nothing

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Sifting into Place

The walls
With dry paint

And the books
Sift themselves
Into cozy shelves
Ready for reading

Boxes emptier
Paintings almost up
Photos framed
Rugs rolled out

A few more days
And all is finished

(Then back to writing!)

I'll post pics soon. Until then, still some work to do.

Sunday, March 13, 2011


Sorry it's been so long, but I've been a bit busy. My house is two rooms away from being fully painted, and I also re-started a long-time interest. Last week I auditioned for The Sound of Music.

It's a musical I've been practicing for these, oh, past many decades, ever since I was old enough to sing songs on my own. I still remember watching it on laserdisc (yes, my family owned a player, and they amassed hundreds of them by the time I moved out on my own). One of my fondest memories of my father comes from watching this movie, for he let me scan back and sing "Climb Every Mountain" over and over, turning up the volume so that I could belt out the song at the top of my lungs.

Yes, others in the family complained. Thinking about it now, I'm not surprised. It was loud. I was only learning to sing. But when anyone did complain, my father would tell them, "She's practicing."

Last Sunday, that memory burst into me at a key point, when the director asked five of us to sing "Climb Every Mountain" solo to audition. One by one we stepped up and sang, and when it was my turn, the memory of my "practicing," with my father sitting there, without complaining, came to me. What a moment. I knew then what I'd been practicing for--for that one moment, that ending verse, the emotion, the message, everything.

When it was over, I felt so grateful to have that memory, and to have the chance to sing for my father, who passed away four years ago on March 9. (I tried blogging about this Friday, but I lost the whole thing just as I was about to post it.) I knew the casting didn't matter, for I'd sung to my father.

The moment isn't over, though. Maybe it was the memory, maybe it was all that practicing, but I earned the part of Mother Abbess, and when performances begin in May, I'll be belting that song out for the whole audience.

And maybe my father will be there, too, listening. For all I know, he was listening last Sunday, when all that practicing came to fruition.

Have anything you've been practicing for? Has it happened? No? Just wait. You never know when all that practicing is going to pay off, in more ways than one. Don't give up. Keep on practicing.

Tuesday, March 1, 2011

Show Me

Show me
The couple
With no kids
Who need a four-thousand-square-foot
Vacation home
With two pools
And beach access

Then I can look at my own home and feel bad

Show me
The yachts
The parties
Of the rich and snooty
Dining on specific kinds of cheese
I couldn't find
Unless I went to France

Then I can chew, tearful, on my vegan hot dog in a wheat bun

Show me
The drive of the spendthrifts
Who fork over thousands for trips
And wedding dresses
And man caves
And luxury seats
To watch a game, a play, a show
That I see for pennies on my television

Then I can wish I had the money to burn, to waste

No, wait!
Better yet,

Show me
People who care about something
Enough to work hard
To fix it
To feed those in need
To sacrifice their time
Their hard-earned money
And their whole lives
To help the world

Just a minute
I forgot
People like that don't make it on TV, do they?