For where your treasure is, there will your heart also be. — Luke 12:34 Times of tragedy allow true character to flourish. Times of heartache reveal family ties we may not have seen before. As I have said before, we have been truly blessed with my family’s support throughout our journey. Between…
Keeping a blog is one of those things. No, not those things. Those things. One of those things that appear unnecessary and superfluous on the surface. It “eats” time and takes energy that could and “should be spent elsewhere. Such as in writing “legitimate” pieces, be they poetry, essays, letters, or even email correspondence. But the fact is, as I often discount, keeping a regular journal — online or otherwise — often makes this other writing easier and more productive.
Sigh.
Still, I have a terrible time allowing myself to write a blog or a friendly letter when I know I have so much else I “should be doing.” Such as paying work. But I digress. Here I am.
This past week was wonderful for planting seeds and for finding motivation to write. Last Thursday I managed to make it to the local monthly poetry workshop group. It’s thanks to that group that I manage to write even one poem a month. I mean, I have to have SOMETHING to share there. So I usually write it in the 30 minutes before I have to leave. I wish it was a bi-weekly group instead. Two poems a month would mean I would probably have enough for that collection I’ve been working on for about 5 years now…
On Saturday, thanks to my husband and a good friend who watched my kids for a couple hours, I managed to make it to the SCWW Writers Intensive workshop/lecture. It was good, though I was only able to stick around for the first half, and I caught the speaker who was less relevant to my work. Still, the opportunity to network was wonderful, and the speaker managed to convince me I need to do some work capturing and gathering some family memories, if only for the sake of handing the stories down to the next generation. Ideally, though, I would love to write them into a Dave Eggers style novel/memoir. I even went as far as to tell my mom the plan. I’m not sure how on board she is, but I think she’ll help. I hope so. She and her siblings will be essential to this.
On Sunday I had the privilege of attending a moonShine review release party. The day was HOT, but there was a pool, wine, plenty of good food, and a crowd of people who I respect very much and whose work I enjoy. Not the least of these people was the hostess of the party and chief editor of moonShine, Anne Hicks, who also edited my chapbook, Lemonade & Rumors. It was wonderful to see her. And, frankly, I ate up the encouragement she doled out, prodding me to get that second collection done. She wants to edit it, which would be wonderful. Her help with the last collection made the experience such a rewarding one.
Still, since Sunday, what have I written? This. Period.
But at least I’ve written that much, right?
This is the first time I’ve done this, and I hope to not have to do it again really, but for the sake of my sanity, I have un-friended someone on Facebook. I mean, I’ve done that before with a couple people I didn’t actually know, people who were part of organizations I was also involved in. But this time, it was someone I actually knew, someone I considered a friend at one point. But that was before facebook. Since friending this person, I have had no positive interaction from them. And you know what, I don’t need that kind of constantly argumentative vibe. I’m too good — and tired — for that silliness.
Eight days ago I pulled an all-nighter in a desperate attempt to wrap volume 2, issue 1 of Shakespeare’s Monkey Revue in time to get copies up here in time for the intended release party. I managed, but in the fog of sleep deprivation.
In the days that followed, I pushed to get confirmed RSVPs for the Makepeace Brothers backyard concert that I had planned for last night.
Two days ago I shot off an overwhelmed email off to the guys to relay the sad condition of the “confirmed” list. I knew there was no way we could make it work as originally planned. Fortunately, the band reassured me that it’d work out.
And it did.
Though not quite what any of us had planned, the concert last night was excellent and SO much fun. Because of the threat of rain, we moved inside; turned out we could have stayed outside — the rain hit hard all around us, but none hit our house. Still, inside worked out well, though it was hot. More than half of the guests were people I had never met before, which was cool, but disappointing that more of my friends couldn’t make it. Overall, any “issues” (including my social awkwardness and naivete) were few and surmountable. For me, it was definitely worth the stress, exhaustion and general sense of being overwhelmed beforehand. I would be happy to do it again.
The Makepeace Brothers LRC 8/7/08And yet…
Even with “Lovely” and “Things Gonna Wait” still playing in my head, I still — or rather, again — feel overwhelmed. This time with poison, with anger, with the question of a cliche: why do we hurt the ones we love?
Despite the fair number of people who attended (including a handful who went out of their reasonable way to come), several others who said they would try to did not show. And one person who gave a definite “yes” did not follow through. That person is like family; maybe that’s why I was so easily blown off. Regardless, it hurt. And though I know I should drop it and move on, I am not ready to let go of this anger. I would not and have not ever done this to this person. But this is not the first time I have been disappointed by this “best friend.” So I’m wondering why I keep putting myself in the vulnerable position where I allow this to happen again and again. All I can come up with is that I love this person with whom I have shared some of my happiest moments. I guess the joy is worth the hurt.
Still, my expectations remain (apparently) high, though part of me is resigned to the expectation of disappointment. I have learned I cannot count on this person — unless it’s a life or death situation. I have learned expect to be the last to know and to expect her to be the last to show. I don’t expect my calls to be returned, not the first or fifth.
But I believe in soulmates, and that we may have more than one. I believe she is one of mine.
One thing I don’t know is if she feels the same about that.
Regardless, to quote Jason out of context, “the way it unfolds is yet to be told.”
I’m searching for peace in this…
Last October on my way to a poetry reading, stopped at a red light, I saw one of the coolest cars ever. OK, so maybe the car itself wasn’t so cool. It was a primer-grey, boxy boat, maybe an Oldsmobile or Buick circa 1989. (I know this because I’ve owned…