It's Been a Hard Days Night

Thursday nights are choir nights at our church, and we've started off the year with a very ambitious project~we're mounting a production of South Pacific, not the full show, but a slightly revised version. It includes all the songs, and a good bit of the dialogue. Tonight was our first full rehearsal. The show goes up in two weeks.

That's right. Two weeks.

If you've ever been involved with any kind of musical production, you'll know that's slightly ludicrous. But our church has a long history of doing full out musicals, so most of the people in the choir are used to this kind of thing.

However...

Our choir director "invited me" to play the second piano part of the accompaniment, which is scored for two pianos and...well, two pianos. That's it.

Okay, I've played lots of musicals before, and this isn't terribly hard music. Our regular organist will be playing the other part, and she's a phenomenal musician.

However (and you knew there would be a however)...

We don't have the music yet.

The show is in two weeks.

There are 42 songs.

"The music's been shipped! They promised me it would be here tomorrow!" our choir director assured me tonight. Hmmm...I think she told me that last Thursday night.

My friend Sandy, the other accompanist involved, gave me "the look" that says, "Don't you just love being taken completely for granted?"

A few years ago, I would have been completely freaked out about this situation.

However, perhaps it's because I'm older and wiser, or perhaps it's just hormones (remember, I blame everything on hormones these days), I'm really not terribly worried. I figure, que sera sera - I'll do the best I can. After all, since it's for church, I'm hoping God will guide my fingertips.

Even if it is South Pacific.

A Whole New Grind

You all know how much I love my coffee, and I've developed quite a discerning set of taste buds for my favorite brew. For many years I've been ordering coffee from the Gevalia Company, whose traditional blend has just the right full bodied, smooth taste for me. But whether it's my age or my hormones (which I tend to blame for everything these days), I've noticed lately that my cup of Gevalia occasionally has a bitter aftertaste. Yesterday I tried organic coffee for the first time, and I was hooked immediately. Cafe Britt Organic is a dark roast, smooth tasting, slightly sweet flavored coffee, that is full bodied without even a hint of bitterness. And even better, it's harvested from plantations that use 100% organic materials - no pesticides, no chemicals - and are completely dedicated to fair trade practices. So I have lots of reasons to feel good about drinking it. As an added bonus, my new addiction is available at First Cup, a brand new coffee shop located just a mile from my house. I'm so thrilled that my neighborhood finally has its own coffee house, complete with art gallery showcasing local artists, poetry readings and - wireless internet. I've already made friends with the owner, a lovely woman from Lebanon, who is completely dedicated to serving all certified organic foods. I think I may have found a new hangout. I know I've found a new coffee.

I Love My Rut

There's something very comforting about my routine. I suppose I might as well admit it - it's really just a rut. And perhaps I'm a dullard for loving it, but I do. Following a simple, pleasurable pattern, slipping into regular habits like a well worn pair of slippers, eases my mind and relieves the stress that has become such a part of everyday life. I love my morning routine most of all. Waking early, the coffee freshly ground and dripped just minutes before our classical radio station clicks on, I pour coffee for both of us and bring it back to bed, where we bolster ourselves with pillows and pick up the books we've nodded off over the night before. This reading together every morning is a new habit, and one we've both come to love~snuggling in bed (with Magic and Molly still lost in doggy dreamland), companionably sharing our books together, is a gentle way to ease into the day, and well worth rising early to enjoy. When Jim reluctantly tears himself away to shower and dress for work, I move to the living room and my big green chair, where I take up my notebook and write those all important morning pages. I feel the sunrise over my shoulder, casting its warm glow on the paper in front of me as I let my thoughts spill across the page. When the pages are done, it's time for breakfast, which we usually eat together while watching one of the morning shows. If it's not a work day for me, I will often do some yoga, then end the morning with the all-important dog walk to the park. It's a simple, relaxed way to start the day, this quiet hour every morning. It allows space and time to prepare for entry into the busy world, time to connect with one another before we separate for the day. Probably everyone has their own daily routines that become almost sacred times and spaces in their lives. I've been re-reading some of my favorite Madeleine L'Engle books, and came across this passage from Two Part Invention, which prompted me to so lovingly consider my own daily rut. She writes of her afternoons with her husband Hugh Franklin... "When we are together we enjoy each other's company fully. Our routine is simple and pleasurable. In the late afternoon I read the mail, then play the piano for an hour. At seven Hugh comes in to me, clinking a glass, while our dog barks with joy, and we repair to the kitchen to cook dinner and talk over the days events, in our lives, in the world. At dinner we light the candles and sit in the dining room, often quietly, kything, rather than talking. Then we take the dog for a walk in Riverside Park, come home, and prepare for bed. "Several times Hugh has said, 'I love our rut.'" "So do I."

How about you? Do you have a simple routine that means the world to you? A rut you love?

Write on Wednesday-Dream Works

Last night in my dreams, a writing angel haunted me. Really. In a strange, exciting, miraculous sort of way, I was awakened at 4:30 am with a virtual cacophony of sentences erupting in my head. Paragraphs in fact, spinning themselves out as if my mind were a blank computer screen and someone else was doing the typing.

"Wait," I shouted at myself. "Slow down - I'll never remember all this!" And it was cold last night, I was cold, I hadn't remembered to get my blanket out of the storage box in the basement. I was huddled in bed, curled into in fetal position, surrounded by small dogs who were also cold. I was cursing myself because, of all the dozens of notebooks and pens in this house, there wasn't one of them in my bedroom this morning at 4:30 a.m. And the words, the sentences, some very good sentences, just kept pouring into my semi-conscious head.

Here's the back story...I've been thinking about NaNoWriMo, you know the November madness where some of us who are crazy enough to submit ourselves to 30 days of insane writing torture, sign on to complete a 50,000 word novel during the four weeks of November. So, I've been thinking about two ideas - actually, I've had these ideas in my mind since last November. One of them is, I think, a really good idea for a novel. But I'm not kidding myself - it's not an easy idea. It would really require lots of research even to do a half-assed sort of job. And it's such a good idea (did I say that already?) that I don't want to waste it by not being ready for it. You know what I mean?

But that writing dream, well, it was all about this novel. It was just ideas on top of ideas, flooding into my brain at 4:30 in the morning. It was sentences, and names, and dialogue even. I think the genesis for this visitation arose from the post I read yesterday in Not For Robots, Laini Taylors blog about writing. Here's what she wrote in her first post:

"You want to write a novel. You have a seed. Perhaps you have a character name, an idea of the setting, and a vague sense of what it’s “about.” A good place to start “brainstorming” is just by freewriting everything you know about your idea so far. Don’t worry at all about the “writing” at this phase, about your prose or sentence structure or having the perfect name for your character. Doesn’t matter. This is just about getting ideas out. Every possible idea, even ones that flitter through your head and you’re pretty sure you won’t use. Go ahead and write them down and give them an opportunity to explain themselves. If it came to mind, there’s a chance there’s something in it you can use. At this stage, do not discriminate. Think of it like the auditions for American Idol. You have to listen to the terrible singers -- you have to listen to all the singers -- to ferret out the tiny handful of good ones."

Well, I wrestled with this dream weaver until it was time to get up - finally I managed to drag my cold and rusty bones out of bed, find the notebook I've already started for this book, and try to capture some of those crazy words and ideas.

I went to the library, and started poking around with some background research. But there is just so much I need to know for this book. Laini knew I'd make that discovery too. "As you’re writing down everything you know about the story, you’ll start to see how much you don’t know," she wrote. I sure did, and there's plenty. Frankly, I'm scared.

I think it's too big for me.

Even in my wildest dreams. How about you? Have you ever been visited by a writing angel? Have you had a writing (or other creative) project you really wanted to do, but were afraid of?

Writer's Island - The Gift

"Everyone is gifted - but some people never open their package." Unknown
Gifts - what else can I write about, except the abundance of them in my life? Anything less seems churlish and ungrateful, as if I'm embarrassed by the surfeit of riches piled in this package I've been opening for the past 51 years. A family that cherishes me, a husband who supports me in every possible way, a son who has grown up well and strong with a family of his own to love ~ a wealth of gifts indeed.
In truth, I wonder sometimes whether I deserve them when the world around me is rife with suffering and want. How-and why-have I been so "gifted"? And I try to remain properly grateful, in the hopes that my acknowledgement of good fortune will keep me safely encsonced in its favor a just a while longer.
Of all my good gifts, perhaps the one that is most key, most valuable and cherished, is the gift of my mind, my memory, my ability to read and write and reflect. It is this particular package that I open so gratefully each time I turn the pages of a book, sit at the piano to play, pick up a pen to write, open my mouth to speak. Because I have seen first hand what it means to lose this gift, in this terrible stealthy disease that's sweeping the nation and robbing thousands of people each day of their memories and thoughts.
"A mind is a terrible thing to waste." This slogan for the National Negro College Fund bears truth for the entire human race. "Of all the things I've lost, I miss my mind the most," is another humorous version, seen on greeting cards and refrigerator magnets. It brings a smile, but, in reality it is far from funny.
The gift of thought- it's priceless. I hope I'm putting mine to good use.
For more on gifts, go here