I've been thinking the past few days about why I named my blog "A Life of Fiction." It's always been clear to me, but I know it may not be clear to everyone else.
You see, I have a fairly strange and bizarre life. Sometimes I think I actually do lead a life of fiction; at times there is no other way my life could be described. In college I developed a theory about why this is so.
I appreciate the little things.
That's all it comes down to. I take such delight in the lttle things, feel such exultation in small miracles, find such joy in embracing the ridiculous, have such fun in laughing at the bizarre that I tend to be a magnet for amazingly big deals. Lately, unfortunately, I haven't been embracing the little things. It's been sad. I've gotten caught up in life and all its details that somehow I have somehow missed out on what I love so much about LIFE. In a weird way, I seem to have been so caught up in looking at the forest that I haven't been able to notice the trees.
I am happy to notice how that has been changing as of late. I think I first noticed it when the other day I checked my Twitter feed and saw that a friend had tweeted '
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label joy. Show all posts
Friday, November 4, 2011
Monday, July 18, 2011
A Teller of Tales
In a world without morals I would be a con artist. I have come to this realization slowly - over a few months, really - and have very mixed feelings about it. (Probably because I do live in a world with morals.) It's so intriguing to me, and yet so very, inherently wrong. I take some comfort in the knowledge that I wouldn't con people out of necessity, or addiction (as there are people addicted to the con out there). It wouldn't be because of the rush I would get from selling the con. It would be for the simple joy of telling the story. It's an intense story, when you think about it, and demands plenty of detail and attention, yet for obvious reasons must be simple and vague. Yes, the life of the con has always fascinated me. Maybe that's why I love storytelling.
I took a storytelling class in college. It was the easiest class I had, although my professor told me straight up that I was the best storyteller in his class - the storyteller with the most promise, the most knowledge of fairy tales - and because of this he would grade me on an entirely different scale than the rest of the class. I gave a non-committal sort of nod, tried to wipe the confused, yet frustrated expression off my face, and found my revenge in doing spirited impressions of him for my classmates. (Well, that and acting out the piano-playing scene from Big in the middle of class. I was horrible, really.) Two of my roommates were also in the storytelling class that quarter, although they had the other section, and while they weren't too stoked on the assignments I was. The textbook we had on using stories in the classroom and using tales as tools was strangely interesting to me. And although I had little respect for the teacher - despite the fact that he handed me plenty of compliments with my sub par grading and asked me to tell a tandem story with him (yeah, I know I have some brown on my nose) - I did, and do, have great respect for storytelling.
When I was telling a story it took my entire focus. I wasn't up there putting on a show for my classmates. I wasn't wearing a costume, although I did put a lot of thought into how my outfit might best portray some small aspect of my story. It wasn't a game, although it was very fun. I had rediscovered a story (one about the "hedgehurst" and another about Brer Rabbit) and needed to handle it in the best way possible so it might reach each listener and hit her in the same place it had hit me: my soul.
Stories are interesting things. They are like wild animals that are tamed but never broken. There's danger in telling stories. We've all learned that lesson, whether we witnessed, felt, or caused the hurt stories about other people can inflict. When I approach a new story, whether it is a retelling or an original, it is with a cautious sort of delicacy: How will this story react when I take it in my hands? When I mold it? When I retell it? Many stories demand a certain tenderness throughout. One rough press and the entire piece crumbles. Some require tight pressure and a heavy hand when it comes to molding. Without restraint the story can become too formless or unmanageable, or both. And once a story has become molded into the correct form it needs to be harnessed. A runaway story can become a wildfire where it should be a simply a candle.
I lose myself in stories all the time. My cousin (in her life of a dreamer blog - go look at it) wrote about how she is constantly creating stories. Every moment in her life, every passerby becomes caught up in the whirlwind of creation. I loved this post especially because I do the same thing. I lose myself in a moment. It must be disconcerting for the people around me: I am sitting with a child, trying to help him build with blocks, when a character forces herself into my head. She tries to show me part of her history, whether it is based on my work or totally random, and I am off, following her into Fairyland. When I come back to the real world, usually only a second or two later, I am struck by an uncomfortable vibe I get from the kid's parent. I was there in body but absolutely not in spirit. The body was an animated but empty shell for that second, holding a block suspended for a child to reach and then with a sharp intake of breath and quick blink of the eyes was suddenly refilled. I have been in the middle of saying something to a friend and will trail off because I am shooting off toward the stars, wondering how the world looks different when seen from above. A soft, "Steph?" or redirection to the conversation usually brings me right back to Earth and with a shake of the head I get back into it.
I come by my storytelling honestly. (At least, I assume it's honest since it so obviously runs in the family.) And like my cousin I so strongly dream of being a published author. And while I was definitely inspired in this post by her blog, it also came from my readings on fairy tales and their tellers that I have recently jumped into (well, that and a couple of books about art fraud). Fairy tales absolutely have their place in my life, and that's where my interest is right now. So don't be too surprised if I write more about them in the near future. After all, it's better fairy tales than cons, right?
I took a storytelling class in college. It was the easiest class I had, although my professor told me straight up that I was the best storyteller in his class - the storyteller with the most promise, the most knowledge of fairy tales - and because of this he would grade me on an entirely different scale than the rest of the class. I gave a non-committal sort of nod, tried to wipe the confused, yet frustrated expression off my face, and found my revenge in doing spirited impressions of him for my classmates. (Well, that and acting out the piano-playing scene from Big in the middle of class. I was horrible, really.) Two of my roommates were also in the storytelling class that quarter, although they had the other section, and while they weren't too stoked on the assignments I was. The textbook we had on using stories in the classroom and using tales as tools was strangely interesting to me. And although I had little respect for the teacher - despite the fact that he handed me plenty of compliments with my sub par grading and asked me to tell a tandem story with him (yeah, I know I have some brown on my nose) - I did, and do, have great respect for storytelling.
When I was telling a story it took my entire focus. I wasn't up there putting on a show for my classmates. I wasn't wearing a costume, although I did put a lot of thought into how my outfit might best portray some small aspect of my story. It wasn't a game, although it was very fun. I had rediscovered a story (one about the "hedgehurst" and another about Brer Rabbit) and needed to handle it in the best way possible so it might reach each listener and hit her in the same place it had hit me: my soul.
Stories are interesting things. They are like wild animals that are tamed but never broken. There's danger in telling stories. We've all learned that lesson, whether we witnessed, felt, or caused the hurt stories about other people can inflict. When I approach a new story, whether it is a retelling or an original, it is with a cautious sort of delicacy: How will this story react when I take it in my hands? When I mold it? When I retell it? Many stories demand a certain tenderness throughout. One rough press and the entire piece crumbles. Some require tight pressure and a heavy hand when it comes to molding. Without restraint the story can become too formless or unmanageable, or both. And once a story has become molded into the correct form it needs to be harnessed. A runaway story can become a wildfire where it should be a simply a candle.
I lose myself in stories all the time. My cousin (in her life of a dreamer blog - go look at it) wrote about how she is constantly creating stories. Every moment in her life, every passerby becomes caught up in the whirlwind of creation. I loved this post especially because I do the same thing. I lose myself in a moment. It must be disconcerting for the people around me: I am sitting with a child, trying to help him build with blocks, when a character forces herself into my head. She tries to show me part of her history, whether it is based on my work or totally random, and I am off, following her into Fairyland. When I come back to the real world, usually only a second or two later, I am struck by an uncomfortable vibe I get from the kid's parent. I was there in body but absolutely not in spirit. The body was an animated but empty shell for that second, holding a block suspended for a child to reach and then with a sharp intake of breath and quick blink of the eyes was suddenly refilled. I have been in the middle of saying something to a friend and will trail off because I am shooting off toward the stars, wondering how the world looks different when seen from above. A soft, "Steph?" or redirection to the conversation usually brings me right back to Earth and with a shake of the head I get back into it.
I come by my storytelling honestly. (At least, I assume it's honest since it so obviously runs in the family.) And like my cousin I so strongly dream of being a published author. And while I was definitely inspired in this post by her blog, it also came from my readings on fairy tales and their tellers that I have recently jumped into (well, that and a couple of books about art fraud). Fairy tales absolutely have their place in my life, and that's where my interest is right now. So don't be too surprised if I write more about them in the near future. After all, it's better fairy tales than cons, right?
Thursday, December 2, 2010
"Cat! It's So Fat!"
Last night I fell in love. It wasn't with a person. It wasn't with a pair of shoes or amazing sweater. It was with a Christmas tree.
Last night Cat and I decided we needed to get a Christmas tree. Now, we don't have enough space in our apartment to get a normal-sized tree, and we really don't have the money to buy anything bigger than a few feet tall. So we made our way to the Home Depot to find a little, Charlie Brown Christmas tree. We walked in and looked around for a second or two before I saw the sign that said, Noble Firs, 3-5 ft, $19.99.
"That's us, Cat," I said. "Right within our price range." We walked over to the small trees and I started laughing. "They're so little!" There were only a few, and I picked up the one closest to me while Cat poked around the others. "Oh. My. Gosh. Cat! It's so fat!!" She looked up and started laughing. "What?"
"Your face," she laughed. "You're just so excited!"
It was true. My jaw had dropped and my eyes were huge. Even though I was holding the tree up I was bouncing up and down in excitement. "I love it! It's so fat!"
The clerk came over to us. "You guys want to look at it? I can hold it if you want me to."
I handed it to her and started skipping around the tree. "I love it!"
Now the clerk started laughing. "You're so excited! You're making me excited!"
I laughed. "I'm sorry! I just love Christmas so much! And I love this tree. It's so fat!!"
Both Cat and the clerk laughed. I looked at Cat and clasped my hands under my chin. "Please can we get it? It's so fat!"
She nodded. "I guess so, if you really want it."
"Cat? How can I not want it? It's so fat!"
We paid (the clerk was still laughing at me) and took the little, fat tree to the get a fresh cut on it's trunk. The tree was so short and light that the guy who was cutting the trunk had to keep stopping and resetting the tree. (The tree ended up with a very lopsided trunk as a result.) I was so excited. The whole time he was cutting the tree I was jumping up and down and yelling, "Cat! It's so fat!" I was doing a little dance, and as I glanced over toward the first clerk who helped us, I saw her laughing again. At that moment the little tree almost fell off the table. I lurched toward it and Cat laughed as I reached my hand out, as if to catch it. Luckily the tree didn't fall, and I began dancing again. I turned to Cat. "It is a bad thing that I've already named it 'Norbert'?" I asked.
After the bottom was cut it was time to wrap Norbert in netting so he would fit in the backseat of my car. Orion (yeah, that was really the name of the guy who was wielding the chainsaw) grabbed Norbert and went to throw it through the net-wrapping-contraption. Norbert was so fat he didn't make it through on the first try. "Norbert!" I yelled as he crashed to the ground. (Speaking of "ground," Cat was pretty much on the ground laughing at this point.) Orion looked at me - was that fear I saw in his eyes? - and grabbed Norbert off the ground and shoved him through the contraption. He came out the other end wrapped tightly and Orion handed it to me. "Thanks!" I chirped as I grabbed my fat Christmas tree and began to head toward the car.
"You, uh...You guys need any help taking it to the car?" Orion asked.
Cat and I looked at each other, then shook our heads. "No thanks," Cat said. "Our car is just right here." Orion nodded and heaved a sigh of relief.
I opened the back door of my car and gently heaved Norbert in. "Oh no! Cat! The door won't shut!"
"Can you scoot it in any further?"
I reached my hand in and scooted Norbert as far over as I could. "Let go of me, Norbert!" I yelled. My hand had caught on both a tree limb and the netting. I yanked and finally freed my hand. I closed the door and skipped over to the driver's seat.
After wrestling him into the stand we pulled Norbert inside and put him on the desk in the living room. After spinning him around a few times we finally decided he was placed just right and cut the netting off.
"Oh my gosh, Steph!" Cat yelled. "It's so fat! Norbert is so fat!"
After sitting back and admiring Norbert for a while we pulled out the Christmas lights. Norbert needed some decking. So, we wrapped a single strand of lights around him (I was a little afraid it would take 2...he's just so fat!) and laughed together.
"He's just so fat!" we said.
It's true...And it makes me happy every time I see it.
Last night Cat and I decided we needed to get a Christmas tree. Now, we don't have enough space in our apartment to get a normal-sized tree, and we really don't have the money to buy anything bigger than a few feet tall. So we made our way to the Home Depot to find a little, Charlie Brown Christmas tree. We walked in and looked around for a second or two before I saw the sign that said, Noble Firs, 3-5 ft, $19.99.
"That's us, Cat," I said. "Right within our price range." We walked over to the small trees and I started laughing. "They're so little!" There were only a few, and I picked up the one closest to me while Cat poked around the others. "Oh. My. Gosh. Cat! It's so fat!!" She looked up and started laughing. "What?"
"Your face," she laughed. "You're just so excited!"
It was true. My jaw had dropped and my eyes were huge. Even though I was holding the tree up I was bouncing up and down in excitement. "I love it! It's so fat!"
The clerk came over to us. "You guys want to look at it? I can hold it if you want me to."
I handed it to her and started skipping around the tree. "I love it!"
Now the clerk started laughing. "You're so excited! You're making me excited!"
I laughed. "I'm sorry! I just love Christmas so much! And I love this tree. It's so fat!!"
Both Cat and the clerk laughed. I looked at Cat and clasped my hands under my chin. "Please can we get it? It's so fat!"
She nodded. "I guess so, if you really want it."
"Cat? How can I not want it? It's so fat!"
We paid (the clerk was still laughing at me) and took the little, fat tree to the get a fresh cut on it's trunk. The tree was so short and light that the guy who was cutting the trunk had to keep stopping and resetting the tree. (The tree ended up with a very lopsided trunk as a result.) I was so excited. The whole time he was cutting the tree I was jumping up and down and yelling, "Cat! It's so fat!" I was doing a little dance, and as I glanced over toward the first clerk who helped us, I saw her laughing again. At that moment the little tree almost fell off the table. I lurched toward it and Cat laughed as I reached my hand out, as if to catch it. Luckily the tree didn't fall, and I began dancing again. I turned to Cat. "It is a bad thing that I've already named it 'Norbert'?" I asked.
After the bottom was cut it was time to wrap Norbert in netting so he would fit in the backseat of my car. Orion (yeah, that was really the name of the guy who was wielding the chainsaw) grabbed Norbert and went to throw it through the net-wrapping-contraption. Norbert was so fat he didn't make it through on the first try. "Norbert!" I yelled as he crashed to the ground. (Speaking of "ground," Cat was pretty much on the ground laughing at this point.) Orion looked at me - was that fear I saw in his eyes? - and grabbed Norbert off the ground and shoved him through the contraption. He came out the other end wrapped tightly and Orion handed it to me. "Thanks!" I chirped as I grabbed my fat Christmas tree and began to head toward the car.
"You, uh...You guys need any help taking it to the car?" Orion asked.
Cat and I looked at each other, then shook our heads. "No thanks," Cat said. "Our car is just right here." Orion nodded and heaved a sigh of relief.
I opened the back door of my car and gently heaved Norbert in. "Oh no! Cat! The door won't shut!"
"Can you scoot it in any further?"
I reached my hand in and scooted Norbert as far over as I could. "Let go of me, Norbert!" I yelled. My hand had caught on both a tree limb and the netting. I yanked and finally freed my hand. I closed the door and skipped over to the driver's seat.
After we drove home I grabbed Norbert, the Noble Fir, out of the back of my car and hauled him up the stairs. When I reached the front door I had to stop. "Cat! We can't both fit through the door!" It was true: the tree was too fat to fit through the door with me, even wrapped up. I had to shove Norbert through the doorway first, and then follow.
 |
| Norbert - Wrapped up and put on my desk. |
"Oh my gosh, Steph!" Cat yelled. "It's so fat! Norbert is so fat!"
 |
| Norbert - Unwrapped |
After sitting back and admiring Norbert for a while we pulled out the Christmas lights. Norbert needed some decking. So, we wrapped a single strand of lights around him (I was a little afraid it would take 2...he's just so fat!) and laughed together.
 |
| Norbert - With lights! |
It's true...And it makes me happy every time I see it.
Wednesday, October 27, 2010
A Jar of Happiness
Today I have the afternoon off. Being ambitious, I decided to clean my room. I mean really clean my room. I pulled out boxes that have moved from house to house to house with me but that have never truly been opened. I was doing great, going through things and separating them into "keep," "give away," and "throw away" piles when, true to form, I got sidetracked.
I got to a box from 9th grade or so, and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. It was an old jar - probably about 100 years old by now - with "HAPPINESS" taped to the lid. I opened it up and discovered about 100 slips of paper inside. On each slip I had written something that made me happy.
Here are just a few things I found written on those slips:
-Hot Cocoa
-That time we went to Disneyland and Jobie made up songs about everything
-Mom and Dad getting remarried
-Camping with Gary and Amanda
-Twins
-That time Cat and I went into Shoney's because we saw the Illinois baseball team had stopped there
-When Mom smooths my hair back
-Guys in football uniforms
-Country songs
-The Harry Potter Series
-Mr. Seal (he was my favorite stuffed animal as a kid...and yes, he was a seal)
-Celebrating Sister Day
-Boiled custard
-Different accents
These are all things I wrote down in 9th and 10th grade, but they still make me happy. I am going to put this jar on my dresser and add to it. I think it can do us all good to have a jar of happiness - something to look into when we are a bit down.
And now I want to know: What's in your jar of happiness?
I got to a box from 9th grade or so, and pulled out something wrapped in tissue paper. It was an old jar - probably about 100 years old by now - with "HAPPINESS" taped to the lid. I opened it up and discovered about 100 slips of paper inside. On each slip I had written something that made me happy.
Here are just a few things I found written on those slips:
-Hot Cocoa
-That time we went to Disneyland and Jobie made up songs about everything
-Mom and Dad getting remarried
-Camping with Gary and Amanda
-Twins
-That time Cat and I went into Shoney's because we saw the Illinois baseball team had stopped there
-When Mom smooths my hair back
-Guys in football uniforms
-Country songs
-The Harry Potter Series
-Mr. Seal (he was my favorite stuffed animal as a kid...and yes, he was a seal)
-Celebrating Sister Day
-Boiled custard
-Different accents
These are all things I wrote down in 9th and 10th grade, but they still make me happy. I am going to put this jar on my dresser and add to it. I think it can do us all good to have a jar of happiness - something to look into when we are a bit down.
And now I want to know: What's in your jar of happiness?
 |
| James 1:17 |
Monday, October 25, 2010
The Hills ARE Alive!
Last week I was invited to go to "The Sound of Music: Sing-Along." I was excited (especially because some pretty spectacular people covered the cost of my ticket...Thanks Joanne and Mary!!) and ready to sing when I arrived at the Gish house. Mary moaned a little bit about not owning a nun's habit and not being able to dress up, but we hopped in the Speier's van and headed to the Arlington. Mary and Taylor and I did a great job of embarrassing the junior high girls (Tati and Jordan) by singing "The HIIIILLS are aliiiiiiive with the sOUnd of muuuuuuuuusic (aah ah ah ah)" at the top of our voices from our parking spot all the way to the theatre.
Once we walked into the theatre, tickets in hands, we gawked at our fellow movie-goers - the ones who did dress up. Over there was Maria as a novice! And there was Captain von Trapp! And look at the von Trapp kids!
We waltzed down the aisle and found a row with some friends, and sat down - still embarrassing the younger girls. We sat enthralled at a "Behind the Scenes" short documentary, but we were ready for the main attraction. When the lights lowered we leaned forward in our seats and clapped with the rest of the audience. As the opening credits rolled I was suddenly struck with awe: I was watching The Sound of Music on the big screen. This movie was released in 1965 - 21 years before I was born. It's a modern-day classic; everyone knows about The Sound of Music. And I was watching it on the big screen.
Wow.
But as soon as Julie Andrews came into view my awe was replaced by delight and as the music swelled I glanced at Mary. She looked back at me with a grin on her face and then took a deep breath and belted "THE HIIILLS ARE ALIIIIVE..." I laughed in pure delight and joined in. When Mary, Taylor, and I supplied the first "Aah aah aah aahs" the rest of the audience erupted in laughter. This, of course, set the three of us off in giggles, and I found it hard to sing along.
The audience was great: people were cheering and yelling out advice to the characters on screen. And behind us people were playing kazoos during every song. I leaned over to Mary. "They have kazoos. Next time..."
"Next time we are bringing kazoos. Definitely."
I was swept along by the storyline, even though I have seen the movie countless times before. I wasn't the only one, though. There were audible gasps and claps sprinkled throughout the audience. There was laughter when we all saw there were lyrics posted for the song the nuns were singing - in Latin. Mary and I had a grand time translating for everyone in the theatre...Completely ignoring the fact that I speak no Latin and Mary speaks very little. And when Maria and Captain von Trapp kissed for the first time a group of people behind us set off some poppers. We jumped, and I turned to Mary again. "They have poppers. Next time..."
"Next time we are bringing poppers. Definitely."
As I was enjoying myself and the movie I was suddenly pulled out of the moment. I watched Captain von Trapp refusing to give into the Nazi generals and I sent up a prayer of gratitude that I have never lived in a time or place in which my life has been put in such danger for saying a simple word: No. I sent up a prayer of thanks that I have never had to leave my home to save my life, and I have never had to live in fear and hiding. I know when I saw the movie as a child that I could figure the Nazis were bad - Brigitta says it very well in the movie: "Maybe it's the flag with the big, black spider that has everyone so nervous." Anyone, at any age, who sees that flag knows it isn't a flag portraying goodness and light. But I had never before understood what it really meant to live in that shadow. Even now, never having lived like that, I can't truly understand it. And I sent up a prayer of thanks that I can't understand it.
Just as I - and most of the audience - were completely engrossed and heartbroken that Rolfe had joined the Nazis, and were breathlessly hoping he wouldn't betray the von Trapps the poppers shot off again. I jumped about a mile high in my seat, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Mary had put her hand to her chest.
"That scared me so badly!" she laughed to me. I nodded in agreement. But I was glad, because it yanked me out of my heavy, contemplative mood. I was back in the joyful, excited mood I had begun the night in. We finished the movie the same way we started it: laughing and clapping and singing.
As we danced our way back to the car (still embarassing the younger girls) I was somewhere in the Alps, not on State Street in Santa Barbara. My mind was drifting along, brought back to Earth by the laughter of my friends. I joined in, singing along, and we tumbled into the car, just in the knick of time, too, because rain drops were beginning to fall from the sky.
We all agreed that the evening was almost magical. As we drove back home I looked at our little mountain range (no comparison to the Alps!) and imagined them ringing with the sound of music. Back at Mary's house I hopped out of the van and gave hugs all around, then hurried to my car to avoid the rain.
As I started my car I looked in my rear-view mirror for another look at the mountains. I could swear they were singing for me. I smiled hummed back at them, then pulled my car into the road, ready to go home and sleep.
Lots of love,
Once we walked into the theatre, tickets in hands, we gawked at our fellow movie-goers - the ones who did dress up. Over there was Maria as a novice! And there was Captain von Trapp! And look at the von Trapp kids!
We waltzed down the aisle and found a row with some friends, and sat down - still embarrassing the younger girls. We sat enthralled at a "Behind the Scenes" short documentary, but we were ready for the main attraction. When the lights lowered we leaned forward in our seats and clapped with the rest of the audience. As the opening credits rolled I was suddenly struck with awe: I was watching The Sound of Music on the big screen. This movie was released in 1965 - 21 years before I was born. It's a modern-day classic; everyone knows about The Sound of Music. And I was watching it on the big screen.
Wow.
But as soon as Julie Andrews came into view my awe was replaced by delight and as the music swelled I glanced at Mary. She looked back at me with a grin on her face and then took a deep breath and belted "THE HIIILLS ARE ALIIIIVE..." I laughed in pure delight and joined in. When Mary, Taylor, and I supplied the first "Aah aah aah aahs" the rest of the audience erupted in laughter. This, of course, set the three of us off in giggles, and I found it hard to sing along.
 |
| Amazing, right? |
The audience was great: people were cheering and yelling out advice to the characters on screen. And behind us people were playing kazoos during every song. I leaned over to Mary. "They have kazoos. Next time..."
"Next time we are bringing kazoos. Definitely."
I was swept along by the storyline, even though I have seen the movie countless times before. I wasn't the only one, though. There were audible gasps and claps sprinkled throughout the audience. There was laughter when we all saw there were lyrics posted for the song the nuns were singing - in Latin. Mary and I had a grand time translating for everyone in the theatre...Completely ignoring the fact that I speak no Latin and Mary speaks very little. And when Maria and Captain von Trapp kissed for the first time a group of people behind us set off some poppers. We jumped, and I turned to Mary again. "They have poppers. Next time..."
"Next time we are bringing poppers. Definitely."
As I was enjoying myself and the movie I was suddenly pulled out of the moment. I watched Captain von Trapp refusing to give into the Nazi generals and I sent up a prayer of gratitude that I have never lived in a time or place in which my life has been put in such danger for saying a simple word: No. I sent up a prayer of thanks that I have never had to leave my home to save my life, and I have never had to live in fear and hiding. I know when I saw the movie as a child that I could figure the Nazis were bad - Brigitta says it very well in the movie: "Maybe it's the flag with the big, black spider that has everyone so nervous." Anyone, at any age, who sees that flag knows it isn't a flag portraying goodness and light. But I had never before understood what it really meant to live in that shadow. Even now, never having lived like that, I can't truly understand it. And I sent up a prayer of thanks that I can't understand it.
Just as I - and most of the audience - were completely engrossed and heartbroken that Rolfe had joined the Nazis, and were breathlessly hoping he wouldn't betray the von Trapps the poppers shot off again. I jumped about a mile high in my seat, I noticed from the corner of my eye that Mary had put her hand to her chest.
"That scared me so badly!" she laughed to me. I nodded in agreement. But I was glad, because it yanked me out of my heavy, contemplative mood. I was back in the joyful, excited mood I had begun the night in. We finished the movie the same way we started it: laughing and clapping and singing.
As we danced our way back to the car (still embarassing the younger girls) I was somewhere in the Alps, not on State Street in Santa Barbara. My mind was drifting along, brought back to Earth by the laughter of my friends. I joined in, singing along, and we tumbled into the car, just in the knick of time, too, because rain drops were beginning to fall from the sky.
We all agreed that the evening was almost magical. As we drove back home I looked at our little mountain range (no comparison to the Alps!) and imagined them ringing with the sound of music. Back at Mary's house I hopped out of the van and gave hugs all around, then hurried to my car to avoid the rain.
As I started my car I looked in my rear-view mirror for another look at the mountains. I could swear they were singing for me. I smiled hummed back at them, then pulled my car into the road, ready to go home and sleep.
Lots of love,
 |
| Psalm 98:4 |
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)