A Sunday in September

Readying to settle into a book,
First, I set my eyes on the canvas of the day.
I perch my chin in my hands and look—another glorious page
from Nature's sketch book, cross hatchings
fine as feathers across the page
forming into bursting rays of light that reach up to its source.

Three dragonflies hover,
suspending themselves on the length of the breeze;
they glide into the small force of gravity.

It's the ocean out there in that splendid sky of blue silk
and white linen wrapped in tinkling bells chiming in the warmest
of winds and the copper glint of light as it bounces
from the wings of the largest dragonfly. He gracefully
makes his way across this most wonderful and natural work of art.

Random Thoughts

It’s been a while since I’ve let my thoughts spill out onto the page. I’ve continued to write in my private journals and there have been days when I had much to say and then others where I feel as if I’m a small well that has damned itself up somehow. I know that I cannot live in the past. I can visit, but I can only push forward and live in the present.

 

Where was I…my thoughts…this morning my thoughts are knocking around inside some sort of cage, pulling at the bars shouting, “let me out.” If I don’t write this and post it to my blog(s) I won’t be able to get these little hindrances out of my system.

 

I forgot my secret pin number to my ATM card this past weekend. I had only just used it that morning or was it the night before? I walked up to the machine on a Saturday in the middle of an art festival. I put my card in and as I did so, I realized the numbers weren’t coming to me. It wasn’t a good feeling. I tried again. The card spit back out. I tried again and again. I put my hand to my head. How could I forget? The bank was open. I went in, explained and waited to reset my pin number. It felt awful to forget a number that I use almost daily. But this number meant nothing to me. The bank had assigned the number when I was issued a new card for a new account a year ago and I had never gone in to change it to something more memorable. I used that as the rational for how I could forget such an important number. On the other hand, I’m surprised I didn’t forget it sooner. It was a fuzzy day. A migraine was coming on and I was out of sorts.

 

A few weeks back I decided to discontinue my membership in the writer’s group that I had been attending. The group was supportive and I appreciated the feedback that I received, but for several reasons including time, I felt that I needed to move on. I’m glad I at least experienced what it was like. I come back to a quote that has stuck with me ever since I saw Jonathan Franzen speak. At the end of his talk, an audience member asked what he thought about writing critique groups. He said they can be good, but what stuck is when he said, “After enough practice, you can see your own work.” I do believe this.

 

I was scared stiff when I first started sharing myself by blogging a few years back. All of my writing up until that point was kept tight in my journals or written in essays for teachers. I noticed that as I got more comfortable sharing aspects of myself, it became a little less frightening to push the button to post my blog. I only recently started cross-posting to Wordpress. I’ve found some great children’s books blogs and have discovered a variety of other interesting blogs. I don’t have a whole lot of extra time to search around on Wordpress, so I’ve been appreciative to find other blogs through the process of blogging.

 

The short story writing class I am taking is fine. There are some interesting assignments. Part of me is trying to remember exactly why I signed up for the class. I know why, but really, why? I do try to practice coming back to “beginners mind” from time to time. In this class it’s difficult for me not to compare my experiences to another creative writing course I took so many years ago where we wrote several short stories using the whole story process.

 

What’s working for me in this class is that it’s digestible and the instructor is great. What’s not working for me is the focus on scene building, our assignments focus on a scene per week, except when we do a workshop with a full story. I am writing my scenes and the instructor helps us find ways that we can blow the scene up into story; however, I am noticing that I don’t necessarily want to blow all the scenes up and if I do, I want the story to happen organically without outside forces.

 

Since I know we are coming up on a workshop week where we will choose one of our scenes that we’ve written in the class and create the full story, I have one last chance to write a scene assignment before workshop. I am going to try to think of the full story ahead of time—in fact, I already have, but I’m not sure if I’ll be able to go with it. We’ll see.

 

In general, my mind is not working well with a scene-by-scene approach. It feels very piecemeal to me. And I’m not sure if it’s because I learned one way and am now learning another way or if I prefer starting with the whole—the meaning—and working from there.

 

I am starting to feel Ray Bradbury’s words more than ever and keep them close so that I can avoid the pitfall: “Don’t think. Thinking is the enemy of creativity.”

 

It’s all a wonderful process. My middle name should have been process. I don’t actually have a middle name, but if I did have one—and this goes way back to high school—it would be Raye.

 

Rebbecca Raye Hill. That isn’t visually appealing, is it? Oh, well.

 

Rebb

Childhood Garden

I love children’s books and lately amongst the various other reading that I am nibbling away at, I am also weaving in several children’s picture books and books about children’s books.

One of the books I am currently reading is Everything I Need to Know I Learned from A Children’s Book: Life Lessons from Notable People from All Walks of Life edited by Anita Silvey. This is a wonderful collection of interviews turned into brief essays of leaders from various fields, accompanied by a photo of the chosen book, a summary, and an excerpt. I recognize some of the books from my childhood and jump for joy inside at having my memory jogged and remembering more books. And there are several books that I have not heard of before or have not read, which makes it like an adventure—in search for more worlds that I may have missed, that I can still return to.

This is an incredibly inspiring book that demonstrates the profound affect that books have on our young minds and how books continue to inspire and encourage us to pave our paths in life.

Here is a fantastic video published by the Library of Congress of Anita Silvey discussing her book. It provides additional insights and images of each of the chosen leaders she interviewed for her book.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fNvKfZjDOV8

**

Childhood Garden

by Rebbecca Hill (Rebb)

 

I water the wildflowers that reside within my soul,

tend to those wild abundant gardens.

 

Flowers bloom,

petals dance and spring about,

 

for the spirit of childhood—

that magic palace of wonder and curiosity

will live on—it must.

The Music

The music has changed. The beat has risen. Boom. Boom. Music fills the room, bursts out through slits in the window. She has traveled through a myriad of emotions and memories this morning through the many musical choices she has slipped in and out of the music player.

Her body first connects with the music through a pit in her stomach and then as the selections change, she feels a rise that enters through her toes, and then different parts of her body begin acting of their own accord: her legs, her hips, her arms, her head, her skin. She is practically dancing in her chair, ready to break out and dance around, losing herself for these few moments before the rest of the day begins.

Talent Completion: The Voice and “La Vie En Rose”

I don’t usually watch that much television, but I do have a handful of shows that I like. Most are cooking shows. I have to put limits on myself so that I don’t become consumed with television. That’s not so difficult though, since there aren’t that many shows out there that grab my attention. I turn to my books and I try to include movie watching. I don’t watch as many movies as I’d like. There’s a constant balance and, oh yes, the Internet can be distracting. I might be reading an article or a book and next thing I know I’m searching for other books or digging deeper into this or that; I start writing or scribbling thoughts out and then I add to my thoughts, backspace, delete; and before I realize—hours have gone by.

All this talk about television brings me to my next TV show for the season: The Voice, a talent competition of blind auditions where contestants are at first judged solely on their voice, hoping that their voice is strong enough for at least one of four coaches to turn a chair to say, “I Want You.” Once the blind auditions are complete, next come the battle rounds, and finally the live performance shows. The judges are Christina Aguilera, Adam Levine, Cee Lo Green, and Blake Shelton. 

While I was searching for a You Tube of The Voice this morning, I came across this clip of an Australian version of this program. I adore the Edith Piaf song, “La Vi En Rose” and had to have a listen to Rachel Leahcar’s rendition. Her voice is magical and I could feel the emotion welling up inside of me.

The power of the voice: in all its manifestations whether through singing, acting, dancing, cooking, writing, or a gesture.

My first introduction to “La Vie En Rose” was Grace Jones singing it. Her version holds sentimental value and I treasure it.

Enjoy!

The Voice Australia – Rachael Leahcar sings “La Vie En Rose”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iVHl3j31pUA

Edith Piaf – “La Vie En Rose”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0NdmIpHKfgk&feature=fvwrel

Grace Jones sings “La Vie En Rose”
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ah2x1Enu7Go

Pork Tenderloin and Pasta with Lentils & A Potential New Experience on the Horizon

Last night I prepared pork tenderloin with a rub of salt, pepper, garlic salt, cayenne, tarragon, paprika, rosemary, and a few turns of “Pirates Bite,” which adds some extra heat. I served the tenderloin with a side of lentils and pasta. I followed a recipe for lentils and pasta with chard years ago and had only prepared it once, but have craved it ever since. I got rid of the cookbook where I found the recipe. After an Internet search, I found another recipe as a guide.

The recipe link is below. What I did different: I did not use a slow cooker. This time I used Spinach. I bet this would be great with kale and mushrooms. I decided to use large macaroni noodles instead of linguine, and I didn’t feel that I needed the Parmesan cheese—as much as I love cheese—the cream cheese was enough and pulled the dish together into a creamy delight. I cooked the lentils in low sodium chicken stock and the pasta in water. I will definitely be preparing this again, adding and subtracting along the way.

You can find the description for “Pirates Bite” at The Spice and Tea Exchange
http://www.spiceandtea.com/pirates-bite-p-197.html

Here is the recipe I used as a guide at About.com:
http://southernfood.about.com/od/crockpotbeans/r/bl21c6.htm

**

I’ve been doing a lot of thinking the past week about how I think I’d like to work with children as a classroom assistant. I say think because I’ve never really worked with children for any length of time. Only a few times, one-on-one.  I think I’d be comfortable in the kindergarten through third or fourth grade environment. I know that I don’t have the means to pursue the education or certification needed to be a teacher. I need one to get the other. And adding onto my existing loan debt would not be a good option.

Last time, at least ten years ago, when I thought about going this direction, I called a local Montessori and shadowed for a day in the toddler section to see if it was for me. Though the toddlers were adorable, I didn’t want to change diapers and when I shadowed the older toddlers, I noticed I wasn’t as outgoing or at ease as the other teachers. When we walked through the class for the older children, I felt that this would be the right environment.

So, I thought long and hard, even though it’s only been a week and through the years this thought has cropped up. I have been shy around children in the past the few times that I have been in a situation with many children. I do better with one or a small group, and on a few occasions, the shy ones are drawn to me, probably because they sensed another shy and quiet human.

I thought that a great way to satisfy what I’m being pulled toward is to start searching the volunteer pages to see if there was an opportunity to work in a classroom as an assistant. I found a few that required credentials and/or a minimum of 12 ECE units, which I do not have. I kept looking and changed my search details, and I may have found just what I was looking for. It’s a literacy program for grades K-3 where tutors work one-on-one or in small groups in the classroom, which would be perfect. I love the energy of children when I am around them and have always and still love children’s books; and I feel that I am a teacher at heart; definitely a child at heart, as well as a nurturer of the sprit.

I have many fond memories of my teacher’s from childhood, especially Kindergarten, all the way through third grade, actually. Well, no, wait…second grade wasn’t so great. The instructor didn’t seem very nice. And though it’s a distant memory, I can remember my mother’s presence in one of my classrooms. I believe she was a teacher’s assistant and it must have been first grade. I remember seeing her help other students. It’s a memory that comes in and out of focus. In my childhood I didn’t think much of it, yet now looking back has created yet another piece of the puzzle toward understanding my mother—toward learning who she was and also the things she had me do and how it helped foster who I became, whether intentionally or not. I do remember how she was helpful with the other students.

I feel a certain synchronicity in that my search aligned with an upcoming training session for the tutoring opportunity. It will still take time between waiting for the training date late next month, and then for placement, which could take more time. I am very much looking forward to this new experience, and now I must wait.

The Big Picture and the Details

I always thought of myself as a person who saw the big picture and I do still believe that; however, I also realize that at times, I get caught up in details. There have been some recent examples where this has become more apparent, causing me to flip the pages backwards to find others examples of both.

My significant other and I had this conversation over dinner after we saw the new movie, The Words, about a struggling writer who discovers an old manuscript, becomes enchanted with it, eventually typing it up to see what it would feel like to have written those words.  And here, the trouble begins, for this struggling writer. We had a difference of opinion on our overall interpretation of the movie. He caught a detail I missed and that was an important clue to the understanding of the truth behind the fiction. I still have my doubts and will not know for certain, unless I watch the movie again.

Although, this was a detail and a fact—that I the detailed one ironically missed—perhaps I was actually seeing the whole. I don’t know.

In thinking through it more, though, it has made me think of the times I have looked too much at details, and that while they are relevant at times, the big picture and the details are important toward a balanced understanding. I have to admit there is still a part of me that is resisting that I fall into the trap of detailed thinking. I suppose it’s situational. Sometimes the whole is visually clear to me and at other times it could be that I give in to the details.

I'm not positive where I feel my strength is and I also realize that it depends on the situation whether my detailed mind takes over. I've always striven to adopt a whole picture view, but being aware of the fact that I sometimes slip into detailed mode is needed in order to catch myself, knowing when it's appropriate to bring the microscope into focus, but always trying pull the focus back so that I'm not missing the whole.

I appreciated the movie for what it makes the viewer think about, though unless it's my naivety, I can't imagine any writer being able to live with themselves, knowingly stealing someone else’s writing and claiming it for their own, but I imagine it does happen in some capacity. Of course in the movie, we are told that the writer only intended to feel the writing and the words by tapping them out, to get close to them—at first. Then when the struggling writer’s wife reads what he wrote, was moved to tears and said it was like nothing he had every written before—that it was all of what was missing in his previous manuscripts—he was unable to reveal the truth to her because he wanted so much to succeed. And so the movie continues where it started in a sort of parallel fiction that crosses boundaries.

I enjoyed the movie, yet the end seemed to just end. I suppose I wanted more, but there wasn’t more and I knew that. It’s that I somehow became enthralled with it all, that I didn’t want the reel to stop running. After I started thinking more about the movie and how it was told, I was left not knowing if I believed the narrator or not—I didn’t know how much was truth and how much was fiction. I may have been reading too much into it or perhaps I missed a few of the subtle details, or the one subtle detail that my significant other honed in on that I had missed.

Quote of the Day 2013 by Rylee Gallagher and Reed Gallagher

One of my favorite Kindle blogs is, Michael Gallagher’s “Free Kindle Books and Tips [Kindle Edition].” It’s ninety-nine cents (.99) per month. There have been a variety of great free books that I have downloaded for free that later went to full price. Sometimes I don’t see any books I’m interested in for a few days. Nevertheless, I still enjoyed reading what Michael has to say and seeing and reading about the books he chooses to share. I’ve never personally emailed him to tell him how much I enjoy his blog; this is my way of sharing my appreciation, and perhaps I’ll drop him an email to let him now how much I like his blog. I’ve been a subscriber ever since I purchased my Kindle. I think it’s been at least a year and a half.

You can also view his website, with the same content, at no cost at http://www.fkbooksandtips.com/

Recently when I read his blog, he let his readers know that his kids, Rylee and Reed put a book of quotes together that they hand selected and published, with the help of their dad, on Amazon Kindle. It’s called Quote of the Day 2013 by Rylee Gallagher and Reed Gallagher. The cost is $2.99. They have put this book together to earn money to pay for their school’s trip to Washington, D.C. for spring break 2013. Rylee is in junior high and Reed is in middle school. I purchased the book in hopes that they reach their goal and I appreciated that they took the time to put this together and were creative in their efforts to help pay for their trip in 2013. Good luck to them!

Each page in the quote book has just one quote. I’ve enjoyed the quotes I’ve read so far. Many gems. This quote below has me thinking about my life path:

“It’s a funny thing about life: If you refuse to accept something but the best, you very often get it.”
—W. Somerset Maugham

One more that screams at me, YES! is this one:

“When one door is shut, another opens.”
—Miguel De Cervantes

That’s just a small taste of the quotes that you will find in this collection that Rylee and Reed put together. You can visit the Amazon product page here.

Happy Friday!

A Good Restless Night ~ After Affect: Letting it Flow Out

Last night was a restless night. Not in a bad way. I waited too long to brush my teeth and it bothers me when I skip a night of flossing and brushing. My significant other got up to use the restroom at close to 3:30 a.m. and I took the opportunity to drag myself from a laziness; not quite sleep, rather some sort of heaviness where my mind and body were both awake, but neither was budging. I know it drives him crazy when I wait so long. It disrupts his sleep. I’ll try to do better.

After that, I was wide awake and that thing that happens, happened. You know, where you find yourself phantom writing, where thoughts pour out of your mind, full ideas and thoughts that you’ve held inside and turned around and around—they finally begin pouring out coherently and you can see the words, the sentences, the feelings streaming by, but you just watch. You don’t want to move. You don’t want to disrupt the flow.

And so, there I was. I didn’t want to get up again because I could sense that my significant other was not sound asleep yet. It wouldn’t take long. I continued to let my thoughts spill out and I imagined that I was an hour glass and these thoughts were sand steadily pouring out and I wasn’t doing anything about it. And then I felt the night breeze caress my cheek. It soothed me so. There is nothing I enjoy more than the feel of the breeze on my skin at night through the open window. I have a pack of index cards on the window sill. I grabbed one carefully not to make too much movement, then I reached for my mechanical pencil. I tried to write two words and it seemed that the scratch of the pencil in the quiet room echoed loud. It wasn’t going to work. I put both back up and sat there, going back and forth in my mind: Am I going to get up or lose all the thoughts that are shooting out like stars in the sky? What will I do? Do I want to begin my day?

By now it was a little after 4:00 a.m.—ah makes me think of a book I checked out from the library. I’ve poked around in it, haven’t done the exercises. But still felt inspired in some way. I’ll have to come back to this book, since it makes more sense now that 4:00 a.m. is on my mind. The book is called The 4 a.m.. Breakthrough: Unconventional Writing Exercises that Transform your Fiction by Brian Kiteley. He’s also written The 3 a.m. Breakthrough. I haven’t set my eyes on that one yet. As I was saying: I didn’t want to get up that early and start my day because I knew I would be exhausted later and that I needed to sleep.

Finally, I heard the breath from my significant other that signifies that if I get up, he won’t notice, so I slide out of bed, or rather I maneuver out of bed. I’m boxed in on the window side and I have to navigate just enough space to put my foot down at the end of the bed, so as not to lose my balance. I go to the living room, get the battery operated lantern from the bottom shelf, turn it on, get my notebook and pencil, crouch over, and begin writing.

By then, the thoughts are not exactly flowing out the way they were at the brink of awakening. No, of course not. I did manage to jot a few thoughts down so that I can come back to them later. Instead what I wrote was mostly a few words to spark my memory next time, words put in their own corners in the notebook for each separate idea or thought. I’m still glad I got out of bed. I’m glad I was awake at that hour. The clouds seem to wait until the wee hours of the morning to look there most stunning and romantic. I could slip out of my window and fly with them easily. And that was my restless night.

About the photo: I’m not exactly sure why I chose this one to share. I took it a month back on a visit to the library. I liked how one piece of art framed the other artwork. It was taken with my iPod Touch, so the quality isn’t that great. There’s something about it I like and I love that the mountain is in the background.

It’s nighttime again…have a good night.

Happy writing!

A Little of This & A Little of That

This morning I went to my bookshelves to find a quote. I had a book in mind. Instead I saw another, picked it up, and flipped the pages to see what passages I had marked.

It’s a quiet morning. The sun is taking slightly longer to rise and that is when I begin noticing…I usually rise with the sun. It seems, though, that my inner clock is set on a particular time and woke me before the sun had fully blossomed. When we fall back in October, it will be a test of my inner clock.

Some months ago I picked up a used copy of Ben Franklin’s Almanac of Wit, Wisdom and Practical Advice: Useful Tips and Fascinating Facts for Every Day of the Year by the Editors of The Old Farmer’s Almanac. Now isn’t that a mouth full of a title! Well, it’s probably no surprise that I have the book situated in a place where I can see it daily, yet I’ve only flipped through the pages a few times.

This morning I decided to crack it open to September 5 to see what wit and wisdom I would find. Today seemed to be all about work. I spied that yesterday is recipe day: Rush Hour Pasta and Peas. Sounds delicious. Speaking of recipes, I am finally going to get back into the kitchen. I’ve been relying on prepared “healthy” foods and other prepared meals from Trader Joes. I’ve gotten uninspired in the kitchen and have gone back to my ways of not wanting to cook and clean up a mountain of dishes that seems far too many for only two. I’ve seen some nice lentil and pasta recipes—one that I emailed to myself months ago. I will finally give that a try. It has cream cheese in it too! The October Family Circle magazine also has some nice looking lentil and one-pot meal recipes.

Something came up in our writer’s group. One of the writers is working on a children’s book for the nine to twelve readers. It’s a delightful story, but because one of her characters has a Spanish accent, she has written his dialogue so that he speaks English with a Spanish accent, so he would say something like, “How are joo.” Anyway, rightly so, a few members said that some readers—the parents or librarians—might take offense. I didn’t have a problem with the dialogue, and it added to the adorableness and humor of the character.

I was curious and asked a librarian if she had examples of books where this sort of thing occurred in the published children’s books. She wasn’t able to come up with much, but did tell me about the Skippyjon Jones series written by Judy Schachner. She told me that actually the kids loved the books and they were very popular, but that a review tag had been put on the books because of the very thing that our group’s writer was trying to do with her books. I put a hold on the one titled just Skippyjon Jones. The book arrived and I read it last night. It was absolutely delightful. There wasn’t too much throughout the book as far as exaggerating the spelling to achieve the sounds of a Spanish accent. There were a few spots. For example, one part goes like this, “Then, using his very best Spanish accent, he said, “My ears are too beeg for my head. My head ees too beeg for my body…” The story really is fun to read out loud. I was laughing and the main character, Skippyjon Jones is a Siamese cat who thinks he is a Chihuahua—or at least he’s pretending. There are also a few simple Spanish words scattered throughout the dialogue. It’s great. I’m glad I’ve been introduced to this book and have another on hold from this same series. So I will share with our writer in the group about this book unless she already knows about it. Also, this book is for a younger age group, so I don’t know if that will make it not very helpful.

**

Flipping through the book that I pulled from my shelves, looking at different passages that I had underlined, I found one the spoke to me this morning, resonated deep within. It’s part of small chapter, “The Spectrum of Love.”

“The highest, most comprehensive level of love is agape—a spiritual, objective, unconditional love. Immature love needs to be loved; mature love simply loves. Agape, or unconditional love, can dissolve the false self…Eventually agape will refine and expand our sense of who we are to infinite dimensions. It will dissolve our separate existence. Then, instead of seeking the security and consolation of the ego, instead of seeking to be loved, we will be love itself” (pg. 47).

From The Knowing Heart: A Sufi Path of Transformation by Kabir Helminski.

**

I’ve always been drawn to all knowledge and wisdom from as many traditions as I can be exposed to. This book was introduced to me in a class I took called The Metaphysical Heart. I will always be grateful for all the different doors and windows that I’ve ventured to open and that have been shown to me—and I will continue along that path—a path that is wide and varied, where I am but a vessel of some sort, knowing and feeling that I am a part of this grand world that stretches far and wide.

Sending blessings and love to the world…unconditionally.

Shedding

I can feel my skin, loosening itself, releasing the old scripts, releasing what is not working and plunging in as though it were the first day of my birth. I am thinking of an old friend—may he rest in peace—an old friend whose passion was snakes. He was a snake breeder.

And it is now that I think of the many beautiful reptiles that I laid my eyes upon. Looking in on a new batch of corn snakes, I was reminded of different flavors of pale ice cream. Some of the Mexican snakes were bold black, orange, and yellow of different stripes and patterns. The California king snake stunned me with its black and white stripes; and I always had a soft spot for the western hog nosed snake with its upturned front, which made it appear to have a snout. It is a shorter snake with slightly thick body compared to other slender snakes.

He and I had a strained relationship. We had been lovers and friends and back again. In the end we realized we could only be friends, and at times I was like one of the guys in our escapades. Our friendship trailed off, though. I never had an opportunity to properly say goodbye. I’ve never been good at goodbyes. I’ve exhibited this in jobs, in relationships, and during difficult times. It’s a part of my nature, a sensitive soul that can appear like a rock on the outside—a soul that can retreat without much notice—a need to go away and never look back.

**

Lately, the image of a snake shedding its skin enters her consciousness. She realizes that she is feeling this shedding within herself. She sees the opaque covering, as it gently loosens to reveal a new fresh skin.

She feels at peace. She knows she had many ups and downs with her old friend of late and she knows that even though they drifted apart, they still shared pieces of time that remain. She always does things in her own way that is not always understood by others, but she must do what she must.

Her old friend comes to her mind of course because if not for him, she wouldn’t think of snakes in quite the same way.

She remembers a time when she decided to go with him to a snake show, where many other snake breeders would take their goods and sell them to the interested buyer. One container had a small batch of freshly hatched snakes. She cannot recall the breed, but they were a bit feisty. She took a snake out to show a buyer and the little devil bit her. It didn’t hurt and she didn’t bleed. It was like a pinprick.

Snakes are beautiful creatures. Their skin is smooth and cool to the touch, not slimy in the least bit. They slither along—one long muscle, effortless. I imagine it may seem cruel to keep a snake in captivity and perhaps there is some truth to this—to contain a creature that is used to having a vast amount of space, who then is confined to a small container. I wonder how the snakes feel about this. Since they are bred into captivity, does this lessen the desire to wander—or does the instinct come into force and take over?

She is experiencing the shedding of old skin…and she knows she can keep this image by her side as the coming months close in. She will take it month by month and wriggle out of her skin—remembering the cycle and not fighting it, continuing to embrace the change.

Night Pages ~ Weekend & A Few Books

I had to catch myself from writing August. I haven’t completely settled into September being here. We had a very laid back and relaxing weekend. Some family time with my significant other’s family and some time for just the two of us. We visited with his cousin, her husband, and Little A. We brought over a bottle of wine and some beer. I was planning on having both, but ended up sticking to two glasses of wine and skipped the beer. The men went into the other room and visited amongst themselves. Little A., his mom, and I combined our time between lounging on the couch as we watched toddler TV and playing: building castles and tunnels with foam blocks and legos; and then we played with the zoo animals too. Little A. wanted to race, but he was getting over a cough and had to take it easy. 

I found myself wanting to read Eugene O’Neill’s play, Ah, Wilderness! before we go see it. I really enjoyed the family dynamic that O’Neill portrayed. I admired the teenage protagonist, his love of poetry, his honest and how his parents trusted him, even while his heart was getting the best of him, leading him down a downward path over a misunderstanding. There is much more, of course. I laughed a lot and there was a happy ending.  This is supposed to be one of O’Neill’s rare comedies. Since the library book I checked out also has his other play, Days Without End, I started reading that one too and am intrigued by how O’Neill has presented two sides of one character. It would be interesting to see how it would play out on the stage.

I seem to be in the mood to read plays lately. I finished A Streetcar Named Desire two weeks ago and followed that with the movie version of the play.

Vincent had mentioned Bernard Shaw’s play Pygmalion when we were speaking about different British dialects. I had seen the movie, My Fair Lady, based on the play some time ago and so I have downloaded a copy of the play to Kindle and will plan on watching the movie again at some point once I’ve read the play.

It seems that it would be a great challenge to write a play. Since plays are so dialogue driven, I don’t feel that I would excel in this genre.

One play that has always stuck with me that I read in a class is Six Degrees of Separation by John Guare. In fact, now that I’m thinking of it, I’d like to read it again.

I’ve had an especially hard time staying focused on any one book. I got 100 pages into The Painted Drum by Louise Erdrich. I soaked in the prose and then something happened during part two with the POV switch. It brought me out of the story because I wasn’t entirely convinced of the person telling the story. I decided to continue reading. I’m now at page 149 and am undecided on whether I will continue or not. I’m disappointed because the story itself is interesting, about a Native American drum and its history, and the prose is lovely; however, there are times, I’m having trouble believing the story. I really want to!

The All Of It by Jeannette Haien is another novel I came across in a book about books for reading groups. I wanted to find a few gems that were older that I may have missed that would be interesting. I only have a little ways to go before I finish. It’s a lovely book about a secret that a brother and sister must keep until the brother dies and the sister tells the whole story to the town priest—that’s the bulk of the book. It’s a surprise and slightly disturbing. I will continue reading to find out how the story affects the priest. He’ll have a tough decision on his hands on what to do with the information he learns: A test of his faith.

Happy Reading!