Soul Festival

I recently attended a local Book Festival. Numerous well-known authors, poets, editors, artists and media specialists were there. Some had set up tables to sell their self-published books; some were there to speak about their latest work; some were there to talk about their artistic journey; some were there to inspire. Sometimes all of the above. I attend this Festival every year. I guess I go to remain inspired, to learn and to be around others who love reading and/or writing as much as I do.

There is usually a center area like a vast ballroom that has been partitioned into row after row of booksellers, booths, big box store-representatives, etc. And let me just say it: Being in that space is overwhelming. And I absolutely love it. It’s like a giant library I can actually buy. I don’t of course, because of being overwhelmed with too many choices but I adore it nevertheless. Just being in that space, surrounded by books is joyful for me. All I can think is, how will I ever have enough time to read everything I want to read? I could have wandered the aisles for many hours. My feet gave out long before my curiosity about what was around the next corner did. I know I am not alone in this. I could see it in the faces of everyone around me. The crowd of literature lovers was impressive.

Surrounding this ballroom was a circle of rooms kind of like a conch shell of chambers. Each chamber held a master class on writing, an author or group of authors talking about craft, poetry readings and on and on. The problem was what to choose.  An embarrassment of riches.

A highlight for me this year was a purely random event. I was pausing at a table of books and suddenly the great artist Jonathan Green walked up. He spoke to the vendor who was selling his books and she asked him to sign several copies. I was a bit awestruck, having been a huge fan of his work and of the magnificent ballet based on his work. He looked up, shook my hand and smiled and I said as much. He was so gracious, gentle and humble.

Jonathan Green

When I walked away I found that I was very emotional. I think it was the fact of being around so much brilliant creative talent. It was all around me. It filled the air. It filled my heart. It filled my soul.

Life Lessons

Life Lessons. A big topic. Where did I learn what is important to me? My values? My belief system? Although I continue to be shaped by my experiences and the passage of time, certainly, without question, it began with my parents. I do not need Mother’s Day and Father’s Day to be reminded of them and how missed they are but I do want to take time to acknowledge their gifts to me.

My Father. A beautiful man physically, he was tall, athletic, strong, graceful and a great dancer. He was good with his hands, could fix anything and loved to be outside. He was once asked to join the United States Olympic Diving Team and even started and sang in his own orchestra. He never fully realized either one of those dreams. If he was bitter about it, he never said. Regretful, maybe. He made other choices. He loved children. All children. He was unfailingly kind to people less fortunate. Loving music and singing, he taught his children to love all things musical, too. Every trip in the car was full of funny and/or beautiful songs. Christmas, in his hands, became a magical time created by him for our excitement and wonderment. Many nights before going to sleep he sat on my bed and told me story after amazing story made up just for me. He taught me absolute honesty and the imperative of doing the right thing. If he didn’t always, I think he tried. He gave me music and story-telling and unconditional love. So much more, but I’ll leave it there.

My Mother. My gloriously gorgeous mother. As a child I just remember the vitality of her presence. She was always busy; a force of nature. She had incredible energy and stamina. She called it drive and convinced us we were invincible and had unlimited possibility. She was on the cusp of a time when women were just beginning to come into their own. She had four children and made that her career for many years. She poured so much of her creative fire into us that she sacrificed her own ambition. Later she worked many jobs in radio, magazine, advertising and brokerage houses, all while raising us, putting meals on the table and trying to keep my brothers in check. No easy task. Her passion was writing. She was an extraordinarily gifted poet and fiction writer. She loved nature and taught me to see it with the eyes of a poet. She loved to read, exposed me to great writers and encouraged my own writing. She was loyal and steadfast beyond what was even possible. Everyone loved her. She was always there to listen, offering support and ideas. She gave me a love of nature, a desire to learn, intellectual curiosity and unconditional love. So much more, but I’ll leave this too, for now.

Boy, was I lucky. So other than the extraordinary gifts I was given, I would say to anyone, the Life Lesson is don’t give up on your dreams and don’t give up hope. Someone is watching.

                                          Sweetheart Tree. Because they were.