It's always so difficult to be patient - for me, at least. And these days, I seem to be needing to be patient. I seem to be needing to heal and change and grow, and this is indeed frustrating, i.e. to be satisfied to simply wait for inspiration or movement; creativity, plans. Don't like to sit around. But in fact I have been sitting around quite a lot.
Changing tack here: my mother would have been 98 years old today, had she lived, and one of my best friends, who died too young, also shares that birthday. Now, even as I type, a dear daughter of another friend is about to give birth to her daughter, Stella. A triple hit. So hurrah for life.
And prayers for all the people who were slaughtered Monday by the moron in a van. News reporters wonder about his motive, and I wonder why. He was effing INSANE!!!, that was his reason for murder.
But we must be patient and wait for the world to stop propagating hate. Maybe it will happen, but with the sales of guns, and the profits of war, and the egos of "leaders", I despair sometimes.
OK, getting back to life, here's me in my relatively innocent days - not so long ago, but besides looking so much younger, I was playing guitar, and I think I still had more faith in love and kindness then. More prayers, please. We will continue to hope....
Friday, April 6, 2018
from the west down to the east;
Any day now, any day now,
I shall be released.
Well we live in hope. And for me, my succour is always music; sitting down at my piano and bellowing my woes, along with the happy tunes too. I wrote this little song a while back after the following incident, which happened a few years ago:
I was visiting up north with a friend and we went to the local gallery where I bought a picture of a lovely bird.
Back at her place, I opened an email from a family member that I had cared about for many years, who was excoriating me in a very nasty way, and sharing her erroneous thoughts with other siblings. She had never been able to express her feelings honestly, and lost control of her avalanche of anger. The attack was horrible, and caused a rift that has never healed. I see the bird and I remember. So I sing:
I don't expect apologies; lucky thing, since few people do it. That's OK, as far as OK, and it's just how life is, goes. I grew up feeling alone; I'll continue that way. And it's friends who carry me through. And of course, the piano and the singing.
I say thank you.
|the boid on the wall|
|singing about the boid and the - you know - pain|
|singing back in early August when I bothered to get dressed.|
Note difference in winter layering.
Any day now....