Crusty

I think I'm getting crusty with age. I just don't put up with much anymore.

I think this is a good thing. Toasty on the inside but crusty on the out, if people deserve it. Lately, I seem to be running into folks who opt for passive aggressiveness, rather than deal with what I suspect are their larger issues. When that passive aggressiveness comes my way, I find I question the comment (it's usually a comment). And some folks, who already have their anger on a low simmer, react to the simplest things. There's a lot of them out there.

Closer to home, I seem to be changing, too. I no longer ask for permission. I just 'do'. Not sure this is such a good thing, but I suspect it's a necessary thing. I guess I figure that if there's going to be contention, I'd rather it be over something I 'did' rather than something I asked or wanted to do.

So yeah. Not pleased with how some people act, or react, to me or to others. At my age, I should be developing a thicker skin. Seems it's turning crusty.

I Need a Holiday from Me

I am feeling so unmotivated this morning. I suspect it's because I've been working hard on dance lately, and I'm just plain tired. On Tuesday, I practiced an hour on my own, and then had a class/rehearsal that went from 5:30 p.m. to nearly 9:00, with little in the way of a break. Since I'm dancing in five different numbers, we rehearsed them one after the other. My feet were mush by the time I got home.

The show is on Sunday, June 14th at the Timms Theatre (University of Alberta). I was stressing earlier, worried that I'd really botch things, but I'm not so worried about that any longer. I'm hopeful that it will go well, and yes, I intend to practice for an hour or so, today - particularly the tricky bits that still aren't smooth. I also have another rehearsal tomorrow night.

So, all the dance practice, along with all of the gardening I've been doing (spring is such a busy time if you want to stay ahead of the weeds), plus dealing with how I might rewrite my book (sans a couple of POV's and with Author Voice in mind), I'm going to take a vacation from myself once the show is over. I need to get away for a little while, from all the demands I lay on myself. I'm looking forward to the down time.

On another note, I met with an old school friend yesterday for coffee. I've known G since we were in junior high, and I hadn't seen him in years. His wife just passed away after a hard battle from brain cancer. G is heading out for an extended trip through the States - he has no plans about where he's going to stay. It's his form of down time. God bless you, G. May you find your journey a healing one.

The Farm

I think my love for the land started way back. When I was in Grade Two, we moved into a neighborhood that was on the outskirts of the city. My friends and I would make regular forays into the woods and ravines and fields; our parents never worried if we were gone for hours. In those days, kids were shoved outside by 8:00 a.m. and if they came home for lunch, life was good. After lunch it was outside to play and roam some more, until supper.

I had a friend, Hilda, who lived on a farm which was probably a mile or so from our school. My best friend Brenda and I would hike over lumps of plowed field, swat at the droves of mosquitoes hounding us, to leave behind our sidewalk existence of stick trees and basement excavations for birdsong, spruce windbreaks and cows lowing in the barn. The farm had a rich, voluptuous life to it. Walking into it, we felt as if we had discovered a new world.

I realize now, that every locale has its own energy, and what I was responding to was the vibrant life of the place. To me, the farm was heaven, and even now, what brings me much joy is being outside when the sun is shining, the trees are green and plants are growing in the garden. Right now, there are mayday, flowering plum, and apple trees blooming all around my backyard, and their fragrance reminds me why I love this time of the year so much. Spring is precious when it finally buds.

Content Warning - Rampant Sentimentality

This post will be a strange one. I may not even post it - we'll see.

I was up late last night and watching, of all the vapid things, Paradise Island. I was also sipping a finger of scotch at the time and nearly sat down to write this post, but decided against it, always better not to drink and post. Anyway, I still think I want to write about the thoughts that passed through my head last night. It wasn't the first time I've thought them, and I wonder if other people feel the same way I do. Maybe so, maybe not.

To my way of thinking, watching Paradise Island is a form of luke-warm voyeurism and a bit silly. If you haven't seen the show, couples (who apparently haven't met before) are paired up and become roomies, platonic or otherwise, at a tropical resort. The show is sort of like Survivor, people get together and they're voted off - at least I think this is what happens. I've never watched an entire series, and really, I'm sure that if I watched more than two episodes back to back, I'd find the whole show cloying. (Sorry to those of you out there who like it).

Anyway, this post really isn't about Paradise Island.

I think, given enough time to get to know someone, I could probably love anyone platonically, barring that they are not a homicidal maniac or toxic in some other serious way. I wonder if most of us are like this. I know I'm also an extremely judgmental person, but also thankfully, a forgiving one, especially if whomever has affronted me (whether they know it or otherwise) does something warm or endearing (whether they also know it or otherwise). Which makes me think that if most people are like this, then most of us are wired to love.

I hope that's true. So, if you're reading this and I know you, I probably do love you on some level. And further, I think that that small expression of love is a reflection of my greater appreciation that we exist as individuals in a universe so huge and diverse that it's beyond imagining. It's easy to miss the big in staying focused on the small.

So, all that said, it's kind of amazing (and ironic) how watching Paradise Island can make one think such thoughts, don't you think?

Single-minded but Multi-tasked...

I really wish May would settle down. Really, now that winter is over, and the writing grief is over, and the dog has sort of stabilized (and I have stabilized), and B has been moved to Vancouver, all I'd really like to do is sit down and start re-writing the novel. But I can't. Like everyone else, I have other things that demand attention and break up my day - things like vet appointments for the dog and dental and orthodontic appointments for E. As well, there's a whole yard to weed and dig for planting, and carpets to clean (and no - I can no longer put that off - when the dog was having a bad time, she messed the rug in a few places, and I haven't been able to completely remove the stains). Plus there's the flamenco show coming up in mid-June - not only do I have to practice, but I have to sew myself a new dress. I feel like I'm being pulled in every other direction than the one I want to head in. So all I can do is practice patience, and eventually, everything will be taken care of, everything will get done.

I don't know. Having to take care of all of the above makes me want to sit down and get back to the writing more than ever. So, I suppose, this multi-tasking is a good thing.

New Start

I've been tempted not to write about my book and how things are going because of the worst reason possible - mostly because I think there are people out there who may be happy with my lack of progress and success. And yes, that's a terrible thing to say about anyone and may reflect more on me than on them, yet, I do want to write about the book because I've decided I need to rewrite the whole damn thing. This decision came about due to some excellent critique I received from someone in the know, and I trust her judgment.

So - two things I need to reconsider about my book, and they are so huge that a quick fix of a scene here and there won't do it: Author Voice and Multiple Points of View. Because of the multiple POV's, (of which I had too many and need to limit) my voice became distorted. Like a good undercoat of paint, I need to decide the slant of the book, and all the POV's need to reflect this, no matter what is going on in any particular scene - at least, I HOPE this is what will give the piece more consistency. The good thing is, I was also complimented on my ability to write and the success with which I told the original story, so that said, it's good to know I can probably do this.

But so bloody much to do. It took me over a year to write the original, and that was with four drafts. I have no idea how long it will take me to revise it.

Anyway, I started back at it, today. Not writing yet, just rethinking how I tell this story and limiting who tells it. I can already see how this work is going to be grittier, hopefully, closer to the the truth of how things were back in the 1500's in Spain. My original version was a romantic view of life back then, even with the Inquisition present. This new version is darker, the sense of the shortness of life more immediate (I hope), which is partly what fuels the Church in its insistence of its own correctness and the justifiable repression of the masses. Throw in the schizophrenia that results from power out of control, along with the desire of the individual to live and love as they wish, and beneath all of that, the world of spirit which is subtle, omnipresent, and lifts us from our hell or plunges us more deeply into it.

I expect to be thinking about it all week. Maybe next. The writing will start when I'm sure about where, in detail, it's going.

On The Other Hand...

That last post was a bit of a downer. So, in juxtaposition, I also want to write about other female friends who have been wonderful lately, who have come through, who have surprised me with their unexpected generosity, warmth, and support. It's so easy to focus on our disappointments - easy for me, anyway. It's important to remember the great things that have happened. So yeah, yesterday was all about the disappointments and expectations not met. Today, it's about expectations surpassed, probably because there were no expectations in the first place.

I was recently given two amazingly beautiful bracelets, hand-crafted with amethyst and glass beads by a friend who took it on herself to gift five of her friends who were willing to play the gift forward. G's generosity blew me away. She's one of the most non-judgmental people I know, and I love her for that. It's so nice to be with someone who is happy to get together for no other reason than to get together. We enjoy each other's company. There are no hidden agendas, no sense of competition that seems to be an underlying element in many relationships that occur between women. G is such a relief to be with.

Other women who have been wonderful lately include J, who gave me support when I recently needed it by telling me she kept thinking about my book (which will soon be undergoing a major rewrite), E, who has been so patient with my lack of technical ability with our cante group, and D who continues to be my partner in crime at On Spec. D, in particular, has endured some of my own more unpleasant tendencies when it comes to critiquing work, and I appreciate her tolerance and friendship. Finally, there is B, who has been my dear friend since we were both three years old - how on earth, can I forget a friendship like that? She is more a sister than a friend. And finally, there is my sister, S, who feels like my other half. I have been truly blessed to have her as my closest friend.

Yesterday, the cup was half empty. It's so easy to forget that I am lucky to have the friends I do. So much depends on how you look at things, and it's easy to take the good for granted. My cup is very full.

Coming Up After What Seems a Long Time Under

It's been a long time since I posted. I hope to remedy that. Suffice it to say, I feel like I'm emerging from the tail end of a storm; lots of life turbulence has been tossing me around - I've been sick with the flu, my dog has been seriously ill, my first-born has left the nest (which is a good thing, but also bitter sweet), and I've had a few other setbacks that have made me change my plans somewhat. Still, I'm here, surviving, getting back onto my feet. All this turbulence has made me wiser and a little harder, I admit. My expectations of people haven't changed, although I suspect I'm quicker to see the flaws that we all have, including those I have in myself.

Expectations are such a bitch.

One of my biggest problems is that I have had a tendency, almost consistently over the past thirty years, to paint my friends in florid colors of wonderfulness, empathy, and generosity, only to have found that we all have our flaws and we are all not so wonderful to each other at times. I wish my opinions of my friends never changed, that I would never have reason to see them in any other way than their best. It's upsetting to realize that a bland comment about what I do or don't do might actually be a thinly disguised snipe that stems from envy, or that a question asked is not asked out of interest or concern but simply because the questioner wants to talk about her own experiences. It's off putting to find that the praise someone gives you is something she tells everyone. Most upsetting of all is to learn that someone you considered as one of your best friends has resented you for some time; the worst part is you didn't see it because you craved her friendship - she was special. Suddenly, you realize that your own neediness has made you a fool.

Like I said, those expectations are a bitch. I know I sound like I'm crying a river. Frankly, I don't care. I'm a little wiser and a little harder.

So - having come out of the emotional storm I have with the flu, the dog, my son leaving home, and the loss of friends or the clearer seeing of others, I feel like I've become thinner, hungrier, less trusting, more keen. I feel like my knives are out and honed. Not that I'm about to carve anyone up any time soon, but I will cut my own delusions about others and myself. I will also go after what I want, more determined than ever.

It's funny. When I was in stand-up comedy, I remember a number of female comics I met backstage - they always had a defensiveness about them, a caginess I used to wonder about - why were they so distrusting, so cautious, so sharp, especially with other women?

I think maybe now, I know.

A Flamenco Night with my Mother

I ended up going to Noche Flamenca last night at the Winspear, very last minute with my mother. It was a wonderful show, and we both enjoyed it. But as much as I love my mother, she doesn't really 'get' flamenco, and we ended up sitting next to a couple of other seniors who didn't really 'get' it, either. I knew we were off to a good start when I glanced over at my mother during the first half of the show and found her staring at the singer on the stage and then down at her thumb. To understand flamenco cante, you need to know that it's very emotional, and the singer often uses his hands to express great pain, grief, longing, or whatever. It wasn't long before my mother leaned over and asked me, "Has he got something on his thumb? To which I replied, 'No," in that hushed sort of tone that usually tells the questioner not to ask dumb questions and embarrass the people they are sitting with. "Are you sure?" she asked. "It looks like he has a microphone attached to the end of his thumb." To which I repeated, "No," a second time, and she responded, "Well, he must have very long thumbs, then."

Intermission brought its delights. My mother explained to the seniors sitting next to us that she had probably embarrassed me, asking about the thumb, and then one woman said she didn't think the singing was singing, but moaning. To which my mother, happy to have found sympathetic compatriots, said that she had to plug one of her ears, and I found myself looking with great interest at anyone I might know in the audience. Then, the other lady quipped that she had been to Spain, but where were the colorful dresses? To which I jumped in and said that what they were seeing tonight was very authentic - the gypsies, being poor, don't have a lot of money to spend on ornate costumes, and I suspected they were trying to create a mood as well as show what flamenco was, to them. Then one of ladies asked about boleros and pants, and I, being the flamenco know-it-all, explained about Carmen Amaya, yadda and yadda. Anywaaaayyyy...

It was a terrific performance and Soledad Barrio was amazing. My mother was very impressed in spite of everything. It was a great night, and we both enjoyed ourselves. It was good to see fellow flamencas there, even if, one who shall not be named and who apparently, still loathes the ground I dance upon, walked past me with an expression on her face which plainly was meant to say, "I know you're there, but I refuse to glance your way or even acknowledge your existence, despite the pissy expression on my face. You are dirt to me."

Ah, flamenco. What would it be without its loves and hates, mothers and lovers? (My lover, btw, chose to stay home and shave his head, but that's another story).

Busy-ness

My posts have been few and far between lately. It would be nice if I could blame it on devoting the time to writing; there has been some of that, but the truth is, I've been tackling a number of projects/tasks that I needed/wanted to get done. This is what I've managed to accomplish since the new year.

Done: 1). Revamped two flamenco skirts that I wasn't getting much wear out of. I've turned them into new dresses and am pleased with the results. Hopefully, they'll see some stage time.

2). Finished reading through the On Spec November slush pile and made suggestions on which ones to buy, as well as comments on the rest. Some great stories in this batch, which was smaller than usual, so the reading was kept to about a week to get through everything.

Joined: A brand new cante group, where I will be getting some wonderful guidance on how to actually sing flamenco cante. I'm already working on one song sung by Carmen Linares, and I think I'm really going to enjoy being part of this group. I know most everybody, and they're all great people. All very talented, too.

Practiced: Three flamenco choreographies I've been working on, and especially trying to get the skirt working with the feet in the alegrias. Some improvement, there.

Working on: My outline for my sequel. 4/5ths done. Hopefully, I can begin the actual writing next week. It's been a bit of a challenge, as I don't usually work from outlines, but I thought it might be better if I thought the entire plot through in more depth than I usually do. Hopefully, this will save me some grief.

And speaking of the outline, here are a few highlights that I'll be tackling in the second book - actually, nah. It's probably better not to give anything away. I will say, however, that things get darker in all aspects - more violence, more sex, more losses, more creepiness, more insanity, more betrayals, more true love.

I'm going to enjoy the writing when I get to it.