Change. I've learned to embrace it, ride it out til the end. Sometimes I'm kicking and screaming, other times weeping with my eyes clinched tight. Once in awhile I ride like a dog in a car, head out the window snorting what life has to offer. Mother to young adult children, a marriage of thirty years, and a desert to mountain to valley waltz with God have shaped me into someone I never imagined I'd be. Life is short and I want to live it. Tears, sighs, laughter and change. Every morsel granted to me. Scrambled, shaken or stirred.
Friday, November 01, 2013
Serials and Scenarios….Meet Fifi and Oh, Listen to the Music...
First day of NaNoWriMo. I didn't post anything yesterday because it was one of those days. Meeting myself coming and going. Have I mentioned anything exciting about violin lately? Oh, yeah, because NOTHING exciting is happening. I think I've entered the place where I just have to keep trudging until I get it.
Eleven months after starting I know the main notes….know is used somewhat tongue in cheek because I "know" them but I don't. A fraction of an inch gives a completely wrong tone, and when my fingers are on all the strings flying this was and that and I can't really look at my fingers because then I get really screwed up, I'm playing by the seat-of-my-pants. Yesterday I got the lecture about enjoying the journey and how I shouldn't really give myself a goal that will tell me I've arrived. I am a violinist. I play the violin. And no matter how much I play or how much I practice, the chances are I am never going to nail, perfect or stand on a stage and have flowers thrown at me. If I do, then that's great, but the flowers aren't going to happen each and every time so then what? If I look at it as making art, making the world a more beautiful place just because I'm adding my voice in music to the world, whether I'm playing just for me or for others, then I'm going to feel more successful.
I am a violinist. I make art. I make beauty. I am what I am.
I'm also a writer. I create word pictures.
Here's word picture for you. Michelle, the crazy counterpart of mine has chosen two pictures to represent Fifi, the wonder dog, from our novel, Out of the Frying Pan.
She asked her readers to pick the picture that best represents Fifi. I should do the same.
Here's the description (which I wrote, sigh, lovely picture is it not?) and the photos. Chime in with your thoughts. Maybe by the time the book is published I'll have created an artistic violin score.
"We now have a dog Zula insists is “adorable.” Not a puppy, mind you, but a decrepit rat terrier who has to be lifted in order for it to fulfill its purpose in life — sitting on laps and yapping. Though other body parts fail, its barker is in perfect working order.
Fifi moved in three days ago when poor Randolph Johnson checked into Shady Rest. . . the nursing home, not to be confused with the cemetery of that same name three miles further south.
Zula walks the silly thing around the block with great drama but has to stop every few feet to let the rodent-on-a-leash catch its breath. It’s the most ridiculous sight here at Sunset Paradise. She’s sewn several doggy garments for their outings — which would look a lot less ridiculous without the bedazzling, but at least they hide the bald patches."