Well, the second go-round of Cindy's stimulating brain trust, otherwise known as the Writers Workshop, closed out its 12-week run with the customary public reading. Cindy P. is the fearless and experienced leader of this eclectic mix of talented women, and one bold young man, all burning with the desire to divulge the contents of our burdened hearts and heads onto paper and monitor screen. Our members met at a local Presbyterian church with family support and snacks in hand. Not to mention our diverse sampling of reading selections.
The Valdez family attended in part. My girls were present; the boy was promised to a BIG football game, and his dad was there to cheer him on. I can't complain. They were both present in May for the first one. How many do I expect them to endure? Sarah managed to convince her non-boyfriend friend to tag along -- he professed to finding the book excerpt I wrote and read quite interesting. But was it as interesting as Sarah? Hmmm.
Is it proper to admit that I was rather proud of myself? But not for the actual reading in front of folks. I do enjoy that aspect of the gathering; even in high school, presenting before a group stimulated me. To hold the attention of a room and actually coalesce their focus on a single point of interest while urging them to contemplate what's just around the corner from them is a wonderful thing. No doubt! However, the content is what stirred me. The pages I rustled on the podium this past Thursday night held excerpts of personal letters from both me and my brother, penned one to the other, while he was in state prison. The edited entries, concentrated as they were, told not only a story but conveyed the importance of one life . . . be it praying mantis, big sister, or convict brother. Rummaging through these correspondences and rereading the feeling and honesty behind the words made me realize that, as my mother once told me, writing for others is every bit as real as writing for publication. As usual, she's right. (Not that writing for others AND for publication can't ever cross paths!)
Oddly enough, one of the best parts of the evening had nothing to do with the reading outside of the fact that this is the reason for Amy -- of Amy Alaska blog fame -- gracing my doorstep with her presence. And hanging out with me for the entire night. As we were leaving the house for the church, all of us with arms burdened with miscellany snacks and the like, I casually handed her an envelope as I proclaimed it was her birthday card.
She paused, facing me squarely, and asked, "Is this your way of telling me you won't be seeing me for awhile?" I looked at her. Walked over to the calendar and looked at the small square for Tuesday next with 'Amy #39' in print. Thinking I was off by a day or two, I queried, "What? Did I miss it? Your birthday isn't next Tuesday?" Smiling, she replied with a tilt of her head, "It's in January. The 21st. Remember how we talked of our birthdays both landing on the 21st? How we had numbers divisible by 3 and you like things done in 3's?" Someone should have hit me upside the head with an entire CASE of V8! "Wow!" I laughed, "I thought it had come awfully fast. I've been thinking of it for two weeks! And you're turning 41, huh?" She nodded as I continued, "You went to Gatlinburg last year for your 40th and turned pottery, right?" Again, she replied in the affirmative. "I don't MIND going back in time and being 39 though," Amy Alaska conceded as my faux pas registered with her and was found most welcome for entertainment's sake.
"Well, the card is yours AND the gift. From now on, we'll have to celebrate both your real AND imagined birthday." I'm adamant on this point. The card is gorgeous. Believe you me. I practically agonized in the selection. The promise of dinner and a movie, on me, easily kept, and as much a gift to me as to her! As for the mysterious penciled in '#39 birthday' -- I can't help but wonder who was transcribed out of a card from me. Guess I'll have to dig out last year's calendar and check it. Obviously, the loss wasn't too severe as I've received no laments of any kind.
Considering the massive amount of cards I already painstakingly choose, fill with thoughtful sentiment, and slap with postage, I'd best be careful or people everywhere will begin celebrating imaginary birthdays!
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