I have been making time to teach myself to stand back and do an honest music review. Why? Like a new language, music carries a message to each of us. I am a quiet person but i do like to discuss issues and take in other’s viewpoint. And lately, i have had the opportunity to attend some live local music events and think they are worth sharing. A phrase, a photo, a moment shared in time. A cause, a remembrance, a grin for all.
Recently, a friend honestly told me to try and put a little more ‘me’ into my work.
Let me know what you think.
A cup of coffee will never be the same
I was able to travel to Portugal the end of April and was delighted with the whole trip. I knew I was in for an adventure, as traveling with friend Liz Shaw has never been dull through the years. In January we discussed several options, and this trip seemed to meet many of the goals we both had..to go someplace completely different, take in some new sites and people’s ways in the world, and to do it fairly cheaply, safely, and for us both to take in what we each wanted to see. It may be taking in the layered architecture, or time in nature by the sea. One goal we both had was to stay in hostels in an attempt to be part of the community as much as a stranger visiting for a week can do . This led us to three destinations in Portugal. One of the most important things I brought back from the trip was the simple joy of being aware of time. There, in the streets of Lisbon at an outdoor cafe, or during an evening meal in ‘the favorite place to eat in town” a cup of coffee is savored, just as a fine wine. The strong cappuccino is presented in a small cup, and the rich aroma makes one want to drink it slow, to taste every drop. A far cry from me making a large pot of Folgers before work or a mad dash I may make into a convenience store to get my caffeine fix. Or, from Liz’s admittance that she often breezes out her door @5AM with tepid tap water and instant to get her going.
Obviously, after this experience one thinks of drinking this beverage a bit differently. I liked people watching and sitting outdoors in the 70 degree weather we had, taking in different street musicians’ performances and enjoying watching couples strolling hand in hand along the cobblestone streets. The smell of bakery breads and fine pastries were everywhere, and they were a treat to be had along with that memorable java. I have done my best to hang on to the effect that was imprinted on me there, taking a little time to look around, to taste that meal I just made, or that warm cup of coffee I just poured. Laughter, conversations, music, and a few new snapshots of life.
I had hoped my perennials survived the pecking of my rooster Fred. It was joyful to find this daffodil blooming by my back stoop. My friend Carol gave them to me two springs ago. She encouraged me to come with shovel in hand and I retrieved a half dozen bunches. She was always sharing her efforts in gardening. She was known to drop off garlic at your door and would invite you to a morning of picking blueberries. She would use extra coffee grounds and take home sackfuls of leaves.
I miss her. Carol passed over in January, on a bright, sunny, wintery day. Next month I will attend her Celebration of Life, actually on the date of her wedding anniversary to husband Peter. Daughters Heather and Jennifer and spouses and grandson Noah will share the afternoon with friends who no doubt bring stories and laughter to the event. The Stamford Village Library no doubt misses the time she spent there, sharing authors and assisting patrons to find something of interest to read. I first met her when we shared an evening cleaning at the church basement where our children attended pre-school. In later years we shared planting tales and walks in the sun.
That daffodil. Reminds me of the moments in time she shared with me. Thanks, Carol.
Happy St. Patrick’s Day to all. Surely a sign of spring is here with the sap lines running in the woods and all the birds..including my rooster animated this morning.
The question…locked in a room…and what is my greatest fear?
In that room, I wake up. i am looking around. Nothing is in the room but me and that bed. I feel relieved to be alone. but when i go to move, i cannot.
I have had some kind of cerebral incident, and i can see and hear, and think. but i cannot express anything by movement or make a sound.
i have been a caregiver my whole life. i work as a nurse.
my ultimate, personal horror has come realized.
no more taking care of anyone. not even me.