I Know These Women

Tomorrow I head southeast to join some fab women for the weekend.  These are not just any ole women; these women are like, really cool.  And boy do they dredge up great memories of my former life, my pre-Roscoe life.

For lotsa years these women --10 in all -- met with me twice a year at the Red Corral Ranch near Wimberley to explore what It all means.  They are Christian--mainstream and not so mainstream--Jewish, and not-so-sures.  They met, mostly, in a Houston business networking group and made the bold decision to “step out” of their busy Houston lives to ponder and consider what makes life meaningful and more harmonious.  

On retreat, we sat together, usually in a circle, indoors and out, and told the truth.  They asked one another questions; they drew pictures and played games; they brushed each other’s hair and ate wonderful meals together, some in silence.  They meditated, shed tears, and they danced.

During those years some married, some divorced and some remained single, some received scary diagnoses, some became cancer free.  Some left jobs, some took jobs.  Some dropped out, most didn’t.  Some moved away from Houston but stayed connected.   All aged and became more beautiful.

When, four years ago, I accepted a full time job at Roscoe and I told these cool women that I no longer led spiritual retreats they continued to get together on occasion because they love each other.  A stray email found its way to me announcing they were gathering in October.  I sent a smoke signal asking if I might join them.  They said yes.  Tomorrow I will drive to be with them.  

It will help me remember who I am.

Fine Tuning

Searching for the melody,

The one I remember from my earliest years,

The one composed for my part in the choir

Taught to me before I could speak.

In order to harmonize with it

I must first hear it, recall it, tune into it.

There is a melody with my name on it

No better nor worse than yours, just mine.

We are all better off when I find the right notes,

If all these years have taught me anything it is that

it is much better to stop singing and listen for the tune

Rather than continue off key.

These days are about listening, not dropping out.

Looking for just the right pitch before re-joining the choir.

Could it be that I am no longer an alto?  

Perhaps a tenor, or second soprano?

Voices change over time.

When today I sing in the privacy of my own mind

I hear a different tonality,

My voice has taken on a slightly different color, texture.

My song, though familiar, has a few added notes,

Some higher, some lower,

My range has altered.

Until I can master it

There is no choice but to feel

Tentative.

Me, Tame?

Recently some friends and I were discussing the power of the internet.  I told them that I had heard about a fella who interviewed for a job, and the interviewer was very favorably impressed until she searched the internet for info about him.  It seems he has a blog in which he discusses in detail his daily struggle with mental illness.  Oops.  

I then shared that when I heard that story I had kind of an “oh shit” moment, realizing that I am unemployed and recently started a blog!  One of my friends responded, in an attempt to be reassuring, I’m sure, that I needn’t worry as my blog was “quite tame!”  Me, tame?

Another friend asked me why, since I am so 'quick witted and  funny" in person, my writing is not funny?  Damn. 

I’m really working overtime on trying to come up with something shocking and hilarious; something that could cost me a job, ruin my reputation and embarrass my family and at the same time make you laugh or at least smirk.   I’ll get back with you on this.