The long May party. 04/30/2012
When my mother was about fourteen, she played Lucia in a school production of The Long Christmas Dinner. Never heard of it? It's a one-act play by Thornton Wilder, the same playwright who created Our Town, and in a way, it's a microcosm of the same themes. In the space of an hour, we see ninety years' worth of family Christmas dinners scroll past. Characters move in and out, growing and aging and dying, living through joys and sorrows, triumphs and failures, and in the conversations we see how some things change, while others stay the same. Wilder himself has remarked, "Of all my plays it is the one that has found the widest variety of receptions. At some performances it has played to constant laughter; some listeners are deeply moved and shaken by it; some find it cruel and cynical ('What? The dead are forgotten so soon?')." I suppose I belong in the second category. The character my mother played evolves from fresh-faced teenager to youthful matron to matriarch to frail old woman whose death is depicted as a sudden, bewildered exit from the stage. I don't remember exactly what her final line was, but I recall it as something along the lines of "But -- but -- I don't understand!" Of course I was in no position to see my mother's performance, but as I read her fraying copy of the script, imagining her in the role, I shivered. And here's the thing: my sister and her husband have been hosting an annual May party for years, and it's beginning to feel a bit like that. Please don't get me wrong; it's a wonderful event. Every spring, on a Saturday close to the first of May, they invite family and friends (and family of friends, and friends of friends...) into their home and backyard to enjoy grilled hamburgers and hot dogs and potluck sundries, gaming and drinking, a Maypole dance and an after-dark bonfire, and plenty of lively conversation. And it's been going on for, what, twenty years now? You can imagine it, I'm sure. Friends who began as recent college graduates in their twenties, drinking powerfully (and insidiously!) alcoholic fruit punch, laughing raucously, sometimes flirting as the night shadows deepened, appear now to have shapeshifted into forty-somethings with graying hair and children of assorted ages. The infamous punch has given way to homebrew, and less of it. The party still runs late into the night, but the late-night revelers are fewer; the children need to go to bed. Heck, the adults need to go to bed. I've missed this party for the past couple of years because of conflicts with choral performances, so this past weekend was my first time attending since 2009. Maybe that's why I saw it through different eyes, and through a mist of nostalgia. At least, some of the time I saw it that way. Most of the time, I was much too busy nibbling tasty things, enjoying the sunshine, and later the firelight, and always, always the spirited, sharp-witted, whole-hearted conversation. Next year, it is very probable that my sister and her husband won't be living in that house anymore, will have moved from New Jersey to West Virginia. In a movie-worthy turn of events, they're relocating to the same area where my own household moved, nearly half a dozen years ago. I know they'll continue having the same annual party, as by now it has become something of an irresistible force -- but how many of their annual guests will remain immovable objects? Many people who live in New Jersey seem to think of West Virginia as Very Far Away, though it isn't really, not the part where we live. How many will make the journey? Whatever happens, I know that some things will change, and some things will stay the same. And whatever happens, I will do my best not to stand there stunned, blinking in bewilderment, clutching at my drink and murmuring, "But -- but -- I don't understand!" Add Comment Silk and steel. 03/31/2012
After decades of using bronze strings on my acoustic guitar, I allowed myself to be persuaded to try a set of La Bella silk and steel strings. So amazingly lovely! Rich and ringing, they're a joy to sing with. From La Bella's product description: "...silver-plated copper wire wound on pure silk filaments wrapped over a steel core. Preferred by finger-style guitarists for their great volume and mellow tone, these strings are meticulously hand-wound using a pure Italian silk underlay and have less tension than standard steel or bronze wound strings." Less tension. I'll take all of that I can get! Conversation with a slug. 02/16/2012
So, you know how it is. It was about three in the afternoon, and I was hitting an energy slump. There I was, sitting in front of the computer, falling into a trance. Falling asleep, in fact. Now, if I were working at home, I might have just decided that it was nap time. Nothing wrong with that. But I wasn't at home. I was at a work site, getting paid by the hour. Not feeling free to nap. So, I had a conversation with my inner Slug -- what my beloved teacher Havi would probably refer to as one of my monsters. --- Me: Hi, Slug. I see you. You have permission to be here. Slug: urrrrghhhhh Me: So, you seem to really want to sit still and do nothing. Am I right about that? Slug: yeaaaahhhhhh Me: At the same time, I have this project that I would like to work on. Today. Slug: oooooooohhhhhhh... Me: So, can we try moving? Just a little bit? Slug: urrrrrrr.... Me: You remind me so much of the Sleep Demon.* Are you related? Slug: mmmmhmmmm... Me: I thought so. You're different, though. The Sleep Demon persuades me to sleep. You just sleep, and take me to bed with you. Slug: heeeeeheeeee.... Me: So, we're together. We're totally friends. Slug: ummmm? Me: Yes. We take each other places. You have taken me to bed. Now, I'd like to take you for a walk. To the bathroom. Slug: hmm. Me: Let's just do that now. Then we'll see what we feel like doing next. Slug: mmm. --- And that worked. We walked together, we came back together -- and then we did some work. Together. I gave the Slug room to feel dozy, and the Slug gave me space to get a few things done. Not a bad compromise. --- *Ah, yes, the Sleep Demon. My old adversary. Remind me to tell you more about the Sleep Demon one of these days... Feeling the love. 02/10/2012
There must be fifty ways -- no, not to leave my lover -- but to be my lover. Fifty ways to be sweet to myself on February 14th. At least. Here are a few, just for starters: 1. I will wear my heart-shaped rose quartz pendant. The one with the invisible freshwater pearls. Yes. 2. I will drink my favorite tea from my favorite mug. 3. I will read inspiring, happy-making blogs (waves to Havi and Selma, and to Goddess Leonie) 4. I will watch OK Go videos on YouTube. (Especially "Here It Goes Again," the one with the treadmills!) 5. I will splurge, to the tune of $2.99, for an MP3 of Ravel's Bolero arranged for an orchestra of three hundred kazoos. Thank you, Sandra Boynton and Michael Ford! 6. Then I'll grab my own kazoo and play along! Or maybe I'll just squeeze my hand into a loose, open-ended fist, bring it to my lips, and be the kazoo. Because yeah, I'm that good. 7. I will massage sweetly scented lotion into my skin. 8. I will sit in my rocking chair on the front porch, and just be. There. That's eight. Eight is enough. For now. How about you? Is there something sweet and loving (or endearingly quirky and strange) that you would like to do for yourself? There are so many things I want to do with this space, I find myself in a state of being -- well, static. I don't want to say paralyzed; I want no part of that. I don't want to say stuck, either. I have very high hopes for the year ahead. I have dreams. There are a lot of words tumbling around inside my head. They just haven't made their way onto the page, yet. So, what am I doing this month? I'm doing my work as a music therapist, working with clients from preschool to retirement age. I'm writing songs. I'm writing in my journal. I'm singing. I'm playing. I'm reading aloud to my family, and pouring my heart into the reading. I'm pouring my heart into it all, really. I'm improvising. Oh, yes. I am improvising. I have declared this January to be, for me, the Month of Embarking. In other words, I am beginning to begin. Make yourself at home. 01/13/2012
That's certainly what I intend to do!  Hi, there. I'm the one on the left. Pleased to meet you! | Welcome!
I'm Kathleen Avins, a music therapist and creative artist. ArchivesApril 2012 Categories 
It's good to be a Goddess.
The Dragonfly Effect! Created for me by Tori Deaux. Thanks, Tori!
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