Journal Entries
Daughters
Posted Apr 12, 2001
My daughter and I visit our friends at their house on Sunday afternoon. I am welcome there, even in my sweaty clothes after rehearsal. The four of us sit on the sheet spread in the backyard, tempera paints in little pots, a myriad of brushes, and lots of brown cardboard squares piled up. This is how we get re-acquainted after time apart. We sit, chat, and paint. This is a language we all are comfortable with.
The girls are bold and make wonderful swirls of colors running altogether before they leap up and disappear inside. Trisha and I stay outside and paint, talking the way women do when they are alone and not self-conscious.
The girls reappear.. these miraculous blonde offspring from two dark-haired mothers, down the porch steps they fly, each sporting layers of shimmering cloth and brightly colored feathers like two exotic birds suddenly released from captivity.
They announce that they are Wild Fairy Princesses and flit around us in brilliant flashes of light and color. We are the clam at the center, they orbit around us in all their glory. I am sure my heart will burst from the sheer beauty of them. I love their wildness, the fierce determination of their imaginations as they create a world together in that backyard and grant these two mothers the honor of brief passports to that wondrous place of being five years old, when the world was full of possibilities and could be made into exactly what you wanted by uttering the magical words:
"Mommy! Pretend that .....!"
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Latest reply: Apr 12, 2001
Blistered hands
Posted Apr 9, 2001
A new piece to learn... the name "Yodan Uchi" roughly translates to "playing on four sides of the drum." And I do. Its wonderful, joyous, very hard, terrifying, exhausting. My muscles have not stopped aching in weeks. Yet, I feel like I'm flying when I'm playing it right, and like a stumbling ox when I all too often falter. In two weeks, we will debut this piece. I'm hanging by a thread playing this number. No Safety net, here.
My feet are blistered from the spins I have been stumbling through. New blisters will join the ranks of callouses on my hands from where the oak of my bacchi have rubbed the skin, forcing it to comply to the demands made upon it.
I played until the blood ran Sunday, staining the wood of the bacchi forever a brownish red. Blood magic, Sensei says. Let the energy flow through you, he says. Your strength does not come from your muscles, he says. Tension stops the flow, open yourself up, he says. If I'm still standing at the end of practice, then I have not played hard enough, he says.
My friends who sport long, elaborately manicured nails, look at my hands, with their short cropped nails, swollen knuckles, and rough surfaces, and just shake their heads. They cannot understand why I do it.
My little girl, the other day, was walking beside me, hand in hand. She squeezed my hand and said "Oooo mommy... do your callouses hurt?'
"No, honey. The blisters do, but not the callouses."
"I like your callouses, mommy."
"You do? Why?"
"Because no one else has hands that feel like yours. They feel like you."
Exactly.
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Latest reply: Apr 9, 2001
Second Chances
Posted Mar 23, 2001
My best friend is pregnant!
I was stunned to find out that her due date is exactly the same day as my baby Alex's birthday, October 12. Alex died a year ago on March 16. He was born too early to survive. I confess I was numb at first, but then I just had to grin at the peculiar ways of the universe. As a friend once told me, there is no such thing as coincidences. So maybe there really are second chances 
I'm looking forward to there being a new baby in all of our lives. 
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Latest reply: Mar 23, 2001
Oh ugh
Posted Jan 24, 2001
I have the flu. Yuck!
I shouldn't complain... but I have that awful aching body, head stuffed with cotton wool, my brain won't work right feeling. I want to sleeeeeeeeeep..... but I am at work feeling a trifle bit sorry for myself.
*kicks self in pants.. attempts to bolster moral... decides its too exhausting, and succumbs to a quagmire of flu-ness*
(I wonder what a smiley would look like for that?)
Well, I'm going home and taking a nice nap. I can't think about ears any more today.
Besides, truth be told, that book got a lot better in the last chapter, and curling up with it under lots of covers sounds at about the limits of my endurance right now.
Ah for a nice cup of tea.
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Latest reply: Jan 24, 2001
WHen authors lobotomize their characters
Posted Jan 22, 2001
I've been reading a reasonably good series... Terry Pratchet's "Sword of Truth" series. Suffice it to say that one of the things I was enjoying most about the books was that the two lead characters were intelligent, articulate, strong willed people who were remarkably engaging to follow. There was a female lead who was independent, smart and savy... prone to thinking about important issues such as negotiating peace settlements and governing wisely while the male lead's relentless intelligence helped him to successfully navigate situations that were mined with danger and subterfuge.
Well, suddenly these two characters fell in love and this formerly intelligent woman has become obsessed with what her wedding gown will look like instead of her usual intellectual fare. Her male counterpart seems incapable of rational thought and has made one huge judgement error after another, all of which seem to serve merely as blatant plot devices to advance this senseless fiasco. Whereas the previous novel moved along with logic and seemed to reflect a well thought out world conceived and wrought with care, this novel suddenly seems contrived and foolish.
My interest in how the story turns out is at an absolute zero because, in their current state, these two characters couldn't find their way out of a paper bag. How can I care about these two nimnods when they are engaging in repeated bouts of emotional martyrdom interspersed with continual self abasement all the while insisting on being just plain dumb and ...even worse.. boring?
What happened here?
I'm more than happy to eavesdrop on the musings of an intelligent character pondering the difficulties of fair governing or the perpetual tension between good and evil, morality and ethics, not to mention in the midst of a real adventure. But if I wanted to read about some fluff head muse about the color her finacee would prefer her to wear on their wedding day I would have picked something up in the romance section.
How could an author do such a disservice to his characters?
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Latest reply: Jan 22, 2001
Ariel
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