I'm most recently a writer. In the six plus decades of my life, I've been a wife, mother, grandmother, Jill of all trades though mistress of but a few, and most of the time pretty content with my lot. As a much younger person, I believed I was called to write, but life and living distracted me for most of those decades. An unwilling transplant from the South, twenty years ago I unintentionally landed in the geographical center of the US. Writing came about in part due to the unwillingness, I expect. When caring for family, gardening, and renovating a century-old house failed to provide sufficient creative outlets, I turned to the one thing I always intended to do. Eight titles later, I'm grateful I found myself while Lost in the Plains!
Monday, February 25, 2013
Rainy days, Mondays and George
Recently I heard a piece on NPR about Karen Carpenter, and what struck me was not the sad story of her all too brief life, but the impact of her rich, warm-as-cocoa-on-a-cold-night voice, singing to me out of the past. There are blessed moments like that, transporting us to an instant in time when our hearts were forever touched by something as simple as a song on the radio or an image on a television screen.
Today, George Harrison would be celebrating seventy years of life well-lived. One night last week, a Facebook friend shared the link to a U-tube video of the Traveling Wilburys performing "End of the Line." As I commented to her, it gave me a "moment" in an otherwise momentless night. More than just the pleasure of seeing his famous smile and hearing his voice, I was struck anew by the message in those lyrics. Everything about that song pays tribute to the philosophy George held dear, the gentle, do no harm but remain true to yourself kind of life he's been repeatedly memorialized for. For a few minutes, on a cold, quiet night in Kansas of all places, George walked in with his slow-rocking anthem to once again warm and soothe.
Thanks, George, and happy birthday!