August 31st, 2011
For those wondering about who Quinn is, I’ve put this post at the head of the cue
There’s been a radical shift in my focus as a person, and writing is no longer my big priority. I’ve you’d like to stick around and hear the long version of what’s up in my life, keep reading.
April 13th, 2012
Painting by Carol May
Dolphins are fast, everyone knows that. They do not swim in the same way as fish, but rather glide through the water. Their skins actually shed once every two hours in order to maintain the least possible friction in their water environment.
I feel like I’m hanging on to a dolphin and racing, not mindlessly but quickly, through so many things in life right now. Read the rest of this entry »
March 23rd, 2012
The following was written seven or eight years ago, when I was homeschooling three children who were just starting to need me a little less. It was the first thing I’d written in ten years, and expressed another heart passion long denied.
“Can you hear the music?”
Matilla frowned at the baby she was jostling to peace on her hip and glanced quickly out the kitchen window. Grey light and branches of what once were lilacs offered no sign of the speaker. Her brows drew together.
She knew Michael was behind her, standing in the doorway. But she didn’t turn.
His bright presence would fill the postage-stamp kitchen. Not with harsh light, exposing the grime and other shortcomings of her less-than-stellar housekeeping. The light that accompanied him was golden and Alive, kissing her common possessions like the touch of Midas, revealing a beauty that would never have been guessed. But she didn’t turn.
The question hung in the air as she forced herself to stare out the window.
Could she hear the music?
She used to hear the music.
Never loudly. A subtle undercurrent below tumultuous, contradicting brain-waves.
It coaxed and called, and sometimes she would answer it. A little.
But the music wasn’t for her. Not the her that she was. Maybe for the her that she might one day attain to in her mighty striving to Be.
Why was he asking now?
Why now when her days were dim and filled with dutiful love; true love that had been eroded by responsibility and harangued by storms of resentment, but with a foundation strong enough to keep her?
She could not afford to hear the music. Not now.
The baby had quieted and she cradled him in front of her, still glaring stubbornly out the window.
If she turned she would weaken.
The glow would touch her the music would well up and she’d have to respond. How dare he speak of that sweetness when she lived with so much that was bitter? How dare he remind her it was there?
How dare he suggest that she could hear the music, respond to it, and still meet every urgent task determined to swallow the hours of her life?
If she could do that, she’d already be doing it, wouldn’t she?
…wouldn’t she?
Michael waited.
She clenched her eyes and her arms tightened, moulding her son’s sleeping form around her chest like a breastplate.
But the light behind her was warm, and patient in the stillness. As it lingered, her stiffened back, her grinding jaw relaxed.
“If I hear -” she croaked at the window. She cleared her dry throat.
“If I hear the music, I’ll have to dance,” she whispered.
“There is no… room… to dance here.”
The light seemed to grow, the air becoming thick with its golden haze.
“No earthly limits can stop you,” said the angel “When you dance with Grace.”
Matilla thought hard. The silence deepened, the light hung suspended in time.
And then,
she turned.
March 16th, 2012
Hello dear ones,
It seems my technical difficulties have been set right. I started drafts of a few posts could not complete them before. Not sure if I will go back to them or continue with something new, but I thought I’d let you know I’m back on line!
Blessings!
January 24th, 2012
Image via Wikipedia
Imagine the experience of the Apostle John who lived, ate, worked and rested alongside Jesus in so familiar a way. He knew the true humanity of the Son of Man. Both his gospel and his letters of instruction centre on love, but also attest to the Oneness of God the Son with God the Father. Then in his exile, he was given the visions he recorded in Revelations; cosmic in scope, breathtaking in wondrous detail Read the rest of this entry »
January 22nd, 2012
Caswell Sweetharp
When you find something that makes you come alive, gives joy and is attainable for you to actually in fact do, why wouldn’t you?
Or more to the point, why don’t I?
January 10th, 2012
Last night was the full moon. At four a.m. its light glinted off frozen raindrops on the wild plum trees before streaming over my bed. The cold light was bright enough to cast shadows, fashioning an inverse-daylight I found enchanting. Read the rest of this entry »
December 24th, 2011
This is the first Christmas Eve in several years that I have not lead worship for an evening or candlelight service. My family and I celebrated Christmas early this year, and I traveled to the city to help my Dad through a major surgery. I truly love Christmas carols, the awe and joy, especially anything written in a minor key. But today had its own special moments.
At the hospital I played two long harp sessions for my Father, door open, and gained a few more fans on the tenth floor (it always puts Dad to sleep, but that’s a good thing). When Mom and I went for a break down in the cafeteria, I got to ferry around a lady in a wheelchair who had no one to help her. Her name was Angel – Read the rest of this entry »
December 22nd, 2011
Marjorie's Tree of Life by Kimmie 028 at DeviantArt.com
There was the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden, and also the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, whose forbidden fruit brought about mankind’s fall from grace. “As by one man’s disobedience many were made sinners, so by the obedience of one shall many be made righteous,” says Romans 5:19. Celtic Christians also liked the the duality of one tree leading to separation from God, and a second tree, the cross, bringing salvation. Read the rest of this entry »
December 13th, 2011
Masked Identity, by Marcia Babler
I recently ran a character workshop for a group of students who are putting on” Les Miserables” in February, at the request of their director. A lot of preparation went in, and the day itself was wonderful. I start by warming them up, helping them to understand they are in a safe place and can release inhibition, then helping them connect to the character’s identity. I go through steps of how to get into character once the character is understood, (also, how to get out of character again!).
November 29th, 2011
It’s Tuesday, chauffeur day for me. It’s normal for me to go into town six different times, sometimes more on Tuesdays. With snow coming early this year, some Tuesday mornings have been frightful. This morning the roads were only wet, and stayed wet as the day went on. My daily walk happened beneath an umbrella, and the fire was sulky.