Day Nine: Connect

Many creative people underestimate the power of networking. They think of it in the slick businessman sense, but it’s much deeper than that. True networking is simply connecting with people.

This week I’m wearing my musician hat more often than my writers hat.

This is a unique project because it’s bringing together many people with whom I’ve connected musically over the past 15 years. We’ve all worked together before, but never in this configuration.  Each of us is bringing other people to this party, and so the tentacles of our musical relationships have spread far and wide.

 The talents and abilities of all these people are converging to create something new.

These kinds of connections are invaluable in any endeavor, and I’m slowly beginning to create them in my little writers world.

But I covet more.

It’s fitting that tomorrow one of those newer connections will be guest posting here and also at Becca’s Byline. This young woman has a special writing story to tell, and it will inspire you and touch your heart.

I hope you’ll come back and connect with her tomorrow.

weekending

hunting: for houses this weekend, coming breathlessly close to making a (probably) bad decision and finally thinking better of it (i think) ~wondering why the things you want most are always just slightly out of reach~but grateful for the opportunity to dream big, even if only for hour or two working: a lot, armed with cold iced tea and smiley-faced lemons floating in the glass ~ sweetening the deal with frosted lemon drop cookies ~ wishing for pair of strong and nimble massage fingers for my shoulders and neck while I sit here typing and typing away

listening: to the glorious voices of 40 men raised in song at our church on Sunday~ a musical gift of praise directed by one of my favorite people who taught many of these men to sing way back in their "salad days" ~ a sure way to put a smile of pure delight on my face

thinking: of fathers everywhere ~ the fathers who made us, the fathers who raised us, the men who want to be fathers but aren’t ~ thinking especially of my son, for the first time officially a father on this holiday, and of my own father, wondering whether he’ll see another Father’s Day on this earth

preparing: to spend next week with 30 giddy middle school students as they sing, dance, act and generally “get their Glee on” at middle school musical theater camp

planning: some writing projects for summer ~ not sure whether I’ll accomplish them, but once again dreaming some big dreams ~

anticipating: a guest post here on the Byline coming up Wednesday from a very smart, courageous writer mama ~  honored to have her telling her story here

hoping: you all had two days of rest, relaxation, reflection so you’re ready to welcome the summer solstice on Thursday

Baby Blue Skies

I expected to be sad when I came home from my visit with The Fabulous Mr. Connor. But you know what?

I’m not.

Oh, I miss him, that’s for sure. I miss hearing his little squeals at 6:30 in the morning. I miss hearing the Fisher-Price Jumparoo songs (We all love to play with you...on...the...faaarrrm!) I miss seeing his shy little grin, and feeling his velvety soft cheek, and getting drooly kisses. I miss lying on the floor beside him and reading Everywhere Babies.  I even miss those sharp little teeth sinking into my knuckle when he gets an uncontrollable urge to chew.

Sigh.

But there is no way that any feelings of sadness can have anything to do with that baby boy.

He is simply too full of happiness and light and everything that is positive about life.

His parents adore him and take wonderful care of him.

He obviously loves them both to distraction.

He is healthy, and happy, and smart as a tack.

And even though I wish wish wish I could partake of his Fabulousness every day, I am just so happy about his existence in this world that I can’t even be sad about living 1500 miles away.

Sometimes we all need tangible reminders that there is hope for the future, that life can hold pleasant surprises, that small moments of wonder exist and can eradicate all the dark times.

Connor is all that and more for me.

As it says on the shirt he’s wearing in this vide0 - he is my Hero.

And he is just Too Fabulous for Words.

How about you? Do you have a Hero - someone that makes you happy about life in general?

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h1WK-WoGUy8]

Waking Up

After waking up at 3:30 a.m., tossing and turning for about 30 minutes whilst cursing myself for not taking the melatonin my daughter in law gave me, I surrendered and crawled out of bed. Taking my book from the bedside table I made my customary buttered toast and wide-awake-at-four a.m. cup of hot cocoa. I read the book for a while, then succumbed to the internet’s siren call.

While making the rounds of some favorite bloggers, I came across this post by Melissa Sarno, a young woman of uncommonly delicate perceptions and thoughtfulness. She writes about her upcoming 10 year college reunion and reflects upon the sense of time passages, the way traveling though life sometimes seems- at least in retrospect- to be as effortless and mindless as climbing a flight of stairs.

In the comments, readers were talking about where they had been in life 10 years ago. Mostly younger people than I, their past 10 years included major life changes - relationship changes, children, career building. This was my comment:

Ten years ago, my life was pretty much the same as it is right now.

Hmm.

Funny thing is, I’m not sure exactly how to feel about that. As a person who really rather abhors change, the sameness of the past decade could definitely be viewed as a positive thing.

But as a person who also fears entrophy, the thought of being so stagnant is almost equally distressing.

Perhaps that’s why I’m feeling some sense of urgency about our potential move to a new home. As difficult as that will be, it feels like time to stop standing at the foot of the staircase and start climbing.

Thanks, Melissa, for the early morning wake up call.

How about you? What was your life like 10 years ago? Has it changed significantly? 

Day 6: Steal

Good artists copy. Great artists steal. ~Picasso

Maybe it’s just me, but I’m not happy with that word.

Steal.

Probably it’s my years of parochial school training (Keep your eyes on your own papers, boys and girls!) but the thought of stealing from other writers or artists sets my teeth on edge.

I understand the concept, and I participate in it all the time. Whenever I read one of my favorite authors, my fingers start itching to pick up a pen and write. When I hear beautiful music, I want to run to the piano and play. Cruising the internet sets my brain aflutter with ideas for blog posts and essays and who knows what all.

I call that inspiration, not stealing.

Semantics.

But we writers are all about the words, aren’t we?

And I just don’t like that one.