Long Overdue (Darn it)

Well, it’s very late and I just wrote a nice little blog about this being about a year since I started blogging and such sweet other reflections. However, when I went to publish it the spinning thingy just kept spinning and I think I’ve lost the blog. It all doesn’t really matter except to say that I’m still at it here, books piled up, reading all kinds of eclectic things, writing a fair bit, going to artsy type outings but still trying to catch up. There are so many books and so many writing inspirations and so many artsy things waiting to be appreciated.Long overdue, this personal renaissance. I wonder if the blog will publish this time. It most likely will considering this is just a bit of nonsense that I’ve written as I’m angry that the other blog didn’t take. Anyway, goodnight!

Long Overdue (Darn it)

Well, it’s very late and I just wrote a nice little blog about this being about a year since I started blogging and such sweet other reflections. However, when I went to publish it the spinning thingy just kept spinning and I think I’ve lost the blog. It all doesn’t really matter except to say that I’m still at it here, books piled up, reading all kinds of eclectic things, writing a fair bit, going to artsy type outings but still trying to catch up. There are so many books and so many writing inspirations and so many artsy things waiting to be appreciated.Long overdue, this personal rennassiance. I wonder if the blog will publish this time. It most likely will considering this is just a bit of nonsense that I’ve written as I’m angry that the other blog didn’t take. Anyway, goodnight!

Staged Right

Reserved seating for the playwrights took up the entire front row of the historic theatre. A minimalist set of four chairs and four wooden crates made up the set. Professional lighting effects were simple and effective. Four talented actors performed with dignity, humour and unlimited energy. The director beamed as the afternoon of pure theatre went off without a hitch….well, one slight hitch in misreading the script. The improvisation skills of the actors saved the  day, as usual. All in all a very unique festival of playing with words of children, ages 8 to 13 and I was most pleased to be invited there as a guest.

During the presentations there were many magical talking trees, superheroes and ways to deal with schoolyard bullies. Some plays were about loss, abandonment and even grief. Many were flat-out, side-splitting hilarious such as the one about the third grade rap star and his rapper horse sidekick. (I know……the kid who thought this up is a genius!) And then there was the bird house play with its mounting tension and surprise ending…..( reminded me  just a little of the movie Fargo!), My favourite had to be the play about a wishing star, two headed snake and a walking candle. Talk about deep.

The Grand Theatre in London Ontario was the venue for this entertaining project, Word Play. Funds were raised , supporters were included, professional actors and directors worked with the kids and the audience simply loved it. Reactions from the audience at times overwhelmed the young playwrights but they all took their bows in turn. We all shared the great atmosphere, laughter and pride in these kids. Theatre really doesn’t get any better than this!

Freedom 58

Cleaning closets or sorting out my income tax might have been the more  practical things to do with my day but instead I took myself to two deserted beach towns. Me, myself and I had a wonderful time trying to find an open ice cream stand, reading, watching the waves, sitting in the sun, making diary notes for future writing, eating out, drinking coffee and examining all kinds of memories. I had promised myself a treat if I finished up two writing projects a day early. Seeing as I was a good girl and did that I was entitled to go on a drive and do anything but clean closets or sort tax papers. This kind of lifestyle is the result of reading Julia Cameron’s book The Artist’s Way. I highly recommend the book being the recovering creative that I am.

Lately I’ve been taking myself out for artsy adventures and journalling freestyle in the morning. Yes, I’m retired.  I doubt if  I could have taken up such approach to creative spirituality if I was still working full-time. However, I think it would be fun trying to do it while working. It would be like therapy. I imagine. Instead of coming home from an exhausting day and collapsing I think the day would still hold possibilities. The morning journalling exercise gets one focused and distractions are dealt with accordingly. Procrastination issues seem to resolve somewhat with daily entries. At least it does in my case.

The artist date thing is also working. Just take yourself to something you want to do like walk in the woods, sit on the beach, visit a greenhouse, go to a writer’s group, take in a new play, check out a funky store or antique shop …..( fill in your own delightful experiences)….etc. I don’t mind doing these things on my own at all and the interesting thing is that in doing so I’m making new contacts, finding new friendly people ( hi, nice young English Lit student working at Gussie’s!), experiencing new points of view and finding my ever strengthening recovering creative spirit. Being retired just makes it easier but long overdue!

Second Childhood

I did it again. Twice this winter I have eagerly anticipated a writer’s event so much that I have gone a week early. When I got to the correct destination but on the wrong night I considered what to do instead. I thought about hanging out in the coffee shop with the funky lights and decor, going shopping at the one store still open at that time of night in our small town, visit a friend or just go home.  I went home.

It may be that I’m not getting enough sleep. It may be that I have a couple of distracting projects underway. Most likely it was just another senior moment. Looking on the positive side, perhaps it is  an over eagerness to connect with local writers after all these years of putting my desire to write out of my life .Not only do I enjoy the conversation and ideas shared at these events but I get a huge kick out of the dynamics of interacting with creative and authentic characters like myself.

Reflecting back to the fork in the road about forty years ago I chose a tangled path to follow. Fortunately I managed to get my education and career on course despite the pitfalls as well as raise a wonderful son. However, along the way I was sidetracked from following my  dream of writing. With significant effort and resources the impediment to following my creative spirit was dealt with some time ago. However, other than a joyful period of drama training , teaching and performing I have ignored my childhood desire to write.

Some forty years later, the forgotten  artist child within has been acknowledged again, nourished and wants to play, darn it. She is quite stiff now but is enjoying going for thirty minute walks through the park again. Too old to play imagination games in the school yard she enthusiastically attends any theatrical performance she can. Books  surround her and continue to give quiet comfort. Unfortunately, she mixes up days and details despite writing things on post it notes and calendars. As a result she goes to writing group meetings a week early. Fortunately, she now has the sense to come straight home.

Lights Turned Down Low

Without stopping to find my beret I dashed off to the poetry workshop in town. I happened upon the information at the last moment but as it was in the same venue as the recent writer’s workshop I had attended, I knew exactly what to expect. Wrong.

Sitting in on a poetry reading session prior to the poetry performance I was shown the ropes. The evening’s performer had provided a sample of her work to be analyzed by the group. A group facilitator serenely led this exercise. Immediately absorbed into the group I was fascinated with the personalities around the table. No doubt, I was under scrutiny as well.

When this experience came to its conclusion we went into the main event room and joined the group gathered there to be entertained. After a few predictable moments of listening to a couple of original poems we had also workshopped in the other room, a few contest details and a pleasant introduction of the performing poet artist , the overhead lights were shut off.  A trio of very muted lamps were turned on to set the mood. A séance/coffee house- like mood was achieved. No bongo drums were used but the artist at one point kept a beat by tapping her index finger on her microphone.

Sitting at the rear of the room my view of the petite performer was limited due to the size of the man sitting directly in front of me. I could have moved closer to the front but I didn’t want to draw attention to myself in the process so I spent the next couple of hours in the dark.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

Instead of hearing the typical poetry I expected to hear I absorbed sound distortions, cringed when the artist checked her cell phone several times during her performance and watched the reactions of everyone in the room. At one point the artist forgot some stuff she intended to say and worked through it. Only one person walked out on her.

Her material was about animals, women and relationships. Her use of technology, sound manipulation of her own voice and references to her performance art experiences was beginning to get through to me. I sat in my dim corner behind a big guy and just appreciated the on the spot art happening in the room. My mind absorbed and opened a little further.

Bleach Job

There is no turning back now. The wallpaper is being stripped as we speak. I’ve been wanting to paint the bathroom since forever. Priorities have interfered up to this pont until the paint the bathroom issue worked its way to the top of the list. After contacting Nicola, a recommended painter, cleaning everything nailed down and removing everything else I still had to face the big mouldy elephant in the room. My bathroom ceiling had to be bleached. As I am only 5’6″ and the ceiling is way more than that I had to get up on the step-ladder despite my better judgement to do the deed. Oddly enough, now that my son is living closer to his work, he didn’t visit this weekend to help me . Little arthritic Red Hen that I am, I did it myself.

Strange isn’t it ? Just a little effort mixed with the adventure of standing on a stepladder makes one feel satisfied with oneself. Even more exciting, is the tendency I have to do my little home improvement projects on my own in the dead of the night. I like to tidy up or cook or fix things in between reading sessions, writing when the spirit moves me and lulls in my British drama programs. Anyway, I’m pleased with myself.