American Inks: The Project Continues

The test of literature is, I suppose, whether we ourselves live more intensely for the reading of it. ~ Elizabeth Drew

I am now 810 words into my version of the Amer. Inks new writing project. I know, it does not sound like many words after two and half days of being snowed in. What can I say? In Virginia, one inch of snow, layered with a nice thin sheet of ice constitutes getting "snowed in." Add to this fact that my car did a little icy pirouette on the way home and gave my nerves quite a shaking and I have since been severely under the weather with a bout of either the flu or a nasty little cold with an attitude.

From late Sunday evening until late Monday evening, I have plied this little cold with honey, tea and whisky - not necessarily in that order and a single malt of course. ;-D I don't know about my cold, but it has been a tremendous boon to me! I stayed abed most of Monday and almost all of today. I did not feel as weak as I did yesterday - hence 810 words later, I feel my time in the sick room has been justified.

This short story that we were supposed to simply finish has turned into a prologue and a chapter. What in the world has happened here?! My characters have happened, that's what. They practically shouted at me in a Highland accent: "this tale cannot be told in short story, lass! It needs to be a whole bloody book!" Ah yes - my characters are Scots. At least some of them. Big surprise there if you know me. If there's one accent that makes me weak in the knees besides Gothic, it would have to be Scottish. ;-)

If these characters continue to carry on like this, I may have to come to the meeting with yet another unfinished story. I don't have a choice ~ the tale cannot be told in a short story!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

American Inklings in McLean

The task of a writer consists of being able to make something out of an idea.
~ Thomas Mann

The first meeting of the American Inklings in the new year took place last night at Corkies ~ a cozy place where I am a regular Sunday brunch-er. The charm and atmosphere immediately said that the A. Inklings would be at home. And though they closed at nine, they graciously allowed us to stay until after ten.

We began by discussing creativity: what it means to be creative; whether there are boundaries to creativity and what creativity is not. Then we engaged in a writing exercise. We each took a piece of paper and wrote down one sentence, then passed it to the person to our right and they wrote a second sentence. We continued passing the pieces of paper around until Sullivan said stop.

Out of four beginning sentences, three of the unfolding stories were quite melodramatic and silly. I only claim responsibility for two sentences that took a story from a horror to a farce. But I must say the end result was humorous. :-)

The fourth story we all agreed we were intrigued by. It had the best flow; it made sense and we all wanted to know what happened next. How was it going to end? And there in lies our next writing exercise: to take that beginning and write an ending. And it does not have to be long nor does it have to be short. We put no limits on word length. Just write an ending and however long it takes you to get there, so be it. I can’t wait to read what the others will come up with. And I’m looking forward to seeing what story the characters are going to be telling me to write down!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

The Healing Power of Music

Writing a song doesn't heal things. Even if the song comes up with a solution, it's still only a theory. Going out and living my lyrics is a whole other deal. That takes courage.
~ Alanis Morissette

While music may not heal things per se, it certainly prepares the way for healing to take place. Especially for those of us not gifted with the ability to express our emotions and thoughts in ordinary conversation. Music allows one to be vulnerable yet still hidden. I can write a song about how I feel about someone ~ whether it be love, frustration or sadness ~ without being exposed. And composing a song helps jump start the healing process in me. If nothing else, it brings the emotion to light.

But Alanis is right. It cannot stop there. It is not true healing if it does. True healing takes place when things change in one's life. As a composer, I cannot be whole unless I take the lyrics of some of my songs and live them out. And that is frightening.

A couple of months ago, I composed a song about standing on the edge of love and being frightened at the prospect of rejection and the prospect of reciprecation. And I realized in the course of writing it, that in the end, what do I have to lose by jumping off and letting myself fall in love again?

More recently, I began composing a song about forgiveness and how difficult it is to forgive fully when you have been hurt by someone. It morphed into a love song along the same lines, with the conclusion being that I know I should be vulnerable and let myself feel and fall in love.

So have I jumped off the cliff yet? Have I allowed myself to finish the healing process and step out into the light and open my heart up? Of course not! :-P But at least I recognize that I need to and for the first time in over two years, I am ready to take the next step. And what better time to make a fresh start then then new year?

Here's to another year of growth, both spiritual and emotional. I pray that 2007 will be such a year for you as well.

In vulnerability,

Mikaela

Tree Trimming Dinner for Six

I feel a recipe is only a theme, which an intelligent cook can play each time with a variation.

~ Madam Benoit

Between an increased workload at my 9 to 5 job, organizing an average of a party a month and the onset of preparing for Christmas both at my house and the family home, my posting ability has been effectively derailed for the past couple of months.

Speaking of parties and Christmas, I spent this past Saturday evening at my parents' with a small group of friends. Sullivan had never been down to visit so he came early to help me cut down a tree. At first, I thought that we might be able to get away with cutting one down on our property, but they were either giants or dwarfs. So we ended up driving to a tree farm and getting an 8 foot by 5 foot white pine. Poor Sullivan saw the same stretch of Caroline County several times as yours truly tried to remember exactly where Shepherd’s Hill Tree Farm was! I think he shaved off some time in Purgatory. ;-)

Lynda and Forrest had just pulled in when we got back to the house, and the gentlemen worked on putting the tree in the stand while the ladies came inside to begin dinner. Tika and Yeshua came a little later and brought a walnut bundt cake ~ heavenly with coffee. It was a nice change of pace to make dinner for 6 instead of the 50 plus parties I normally host.

Dinner was maple sausage and garlic stuffed mushrooms, Idaho and sweet potato blend and pork chops in apple cream.

I have served this style of pork before: once as tenderloin in Calvados sauce. I couldn’t find the recipe and I didn’t have Calvados this time around. As some of my regular readers know, the lack of ingredients does not phase me in the least. In fact, I consider it a challenge. Epicurous has the original recipe I used. I highly recommend it, especially if you want to impress your friends’ palates. Here is my stripped down version. Amounts are approximate ~ I usually just eyeball it. Enjoy!

½ stick of butter
1 tablespoon olive oil
Pinch of flour
Pinch of salt and pepper
10 boneless pork chops
3 to 4 cloves of fresh garlic
1 to 2 cups of apple juice
1 to 2 cups of heavy whipping cream
Garnish: Granny Smith apple slices (optional)

Melt the butter and olive oil in a large frying pan. Mix the flour, salt and pepper together and dredge the pork chops in the mixture. Chop garlic and set aside. Cook pork chops until lightly browned on each side. Take out and set aside.

Add chopped garlic to the leftover butter and olive oil. Add more butter as necessary. Add apple juice and whipping cream and stir until almost boiling. Lower the flame and put the pork shops back in the pan until sauce is thick and bubbly. Garnish with apple slices.

Self Titled

We need magic, and bliss, and power, myth, and celebration and religion in our lives, and music is a good way to encapsulate a lot of it.
~ Jerry Garcia

Last night I got together with some friends to jam, compose and rehearse music for my CD project: Michael P. on guitar, Timothy D. on hammered dulcimer and Cindi K. on cello. Sullivan came over as well to act as sound man and recorded our musical shenanigans.

I had already played with all three of them individually. But none of them had played with each other before. I was praying they would “play nice” in more ways than one! Music isn’t just about hitting the right notes and getting the rhythm.

Music is about balance. Give and take. It’s about relationships and vulnerability. It’s about sharing your inner self. And you cannot be comfortable doing that without trust, acceptance, humour and a little repartee.

We had all of the above in abundance last night. Michael and Cindi played dueling strings and yes, fans, it was all caught in audio files and some of it will end up on the final product. When talented musicians duel, it’s sure to be a great show ~ both musically and conversationally!

Then Michael and Timothy decided to have a jam, with Cindi and I jumping in at different times. Three chords. That’s it. And the Muse whispered in my ear. I grabbed my notebook and began writing. Two verses and a chorus later, I asked them to play those chords again. This time I added two extra chords and some layering and a new song was born.

I love jam sessions!!! :-)

The song that received the most work and the most attention from the group was the Fado-esque piece. Part of our getting together was to get a feel for things and see which instruments sounded better on which songs and there were a couple where we didn’t use all of them. For this one, the interplay between all of us was just incredible. It’s a passionate piece and the cello is a passionate instrument, so it was a given. But the guitar and dulcimer really added texture and layers that made the song just blossom.

Not bad for our first (almost) full rehearsal. I cannot wait to hear what adding viola and violin will do.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Requiescat in Pace

To suffer woes which Hope thinks infinite;
To forgive wrongs darker than death or night;
To defy power which seems omnipotent;
To love, and bear; to hope till Hope creates
From its own wreck the thing it contemplates
~ Percy Bysshe Shelley

My father remembers being liberated from a Nazi labor camp by the American Allies on Easter Sunday. My mother remembers being in class when the news that JFK had been assassinated filtered through her high school. I remember watching the Challenger explode when I was in middle school. And I remember hearing that a plane had run into the World Trade Center five years ago and thinking ~ what a terrible accident. And then hearing that a second one had struck and thinking ~ this is no accident, this is a terrorist attack.

I watched in horror as Tower Two collapsed. I sat glued to the television that night, watching every news show. In shock that yet another plane had slammed into the Pentagon no more than a five minute drive from my house and a fourth’s destructive path had been thwarted by its doomed but brave passengers. My feelings of grief for the families, fear for the souls of those not ready to go, shock at the audacity and the sheer magnitude of what had happened, anger at the terrorists and the religion that spawned them, and pride in the bravery, tenacity and will power of the troops, the president and my fellow Americans who banded together in grief and found hope amidst the pain and destruction.

Five years later, the memory that day is still as surreal as the day itself. Some say that true forgiveness lies in forgetting the wound. And I would agree that that is something to strive for in our personal relationships. But a nation cannot afford to forget. It is responsible for the safety of her citizens. And to forget ~ to pretend that it did not happen or to try to assign blame as to who knew what and when is to gift wrap victory to the enemy. And to disrespect the memory of those who lost their lives that day.

Remember…grieve…forgive. But remain vigilant.

Requiescat in pace.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Drop of Rain, Drop of Ink

The gathering in of the clouds with the last rush and dying breath of the wind, and then the regular dripping of twigs and leaves the country over, the impression of inward comfort…

~ Henry David Thoreau

It has been raining since Friday. Some days, a torrential downpour, its intensity scrubbing everything and everyone clean. Others, a playful light rain that places random, baby kisses on your face and then dances away. I like both kinds ~ the kettle drum and the violin. The sound of it as it pounds at the roof is thrilling. The peaceful tap-tap as it caresses the windows is soothing.

I was sitting at my desk, with the window open, the rain playing a sweet melody on the leaves of the oaks and maples, when I became aware of it. A light breeze that smelled like a memory: wet leaves, corn husks and hay. And pumpkins. The sensation was gone in an instant, but my senses were piqued. I had smelled autumn.

Each of the four seasons has a special place in my heart and my senses. Spring is hopeful, bringing color and new life to the spirit and to the ground; Summer is open, her laid back weather perfect for sweet tea and evenings on the porch with family and friends; but Autumn and Winter. Ah ~ they are extra special. Autumn is magical and full of promise and Winter is intimate and giving and mysterious.

I tucked my feet up under me and wrapped a light shawl around my shoulders as a delightful shiver ran through me. Definitely autumn in the air. It being Virginia, the weather is a bit of a tease and I am sure we will see an Indian Summer into October. For now, I would enjoy the moment, this first breath of fall. I took a sip of my tea, its warm, milky sweetness a foretaste of my favorite season.

In the past I have said that anywhere is a good place to write or compose or dream. But I think I said that when I was under the influence of a city summer. Oh no, my dears. Anywhere is a good place to write or dream, but autumn in the rain is the best place.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

A Garden Farewell

My tongue is smiling.
~ Abigail Trillin

And it has good reason to. I picked the last cucumbers and tomatoes from our garden yesterday and they were worth the wait. The cucumber was crisp and fresh and tasted like a breezy summer day. The tomato was amazing. None of the other tomatoes from this year tasted as incredible fresh, sweet and pungent as this one.

Nothing says summer like a tomato and cheese sandwich and it will be sad for my taste buds to say goodbye to that summer treat as the tomato season winds down. I am not even going to suggest going to the produce section for those horrid hydroponic, genetically altered monsters that pass as tomatoes during the winter. Back away slowly.

They are an insult to summer’s memory.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Building Wings on the Way Down

If we listened to our intellect, we'd never have a love affair. We'd never have a friendship. We'd never go into business, because we'd be too cynical. Well, that's nonsense. You've got to jump off cliffs all the time and build your wings on the way down.
~ Annie Dillard

Today I wrote the lyrics for a song ~ I cannot wait to get my hands on the keyboard and compose the music ~ I can hear it in my head already. No title yet, but it deals with risk and vulnerability and how when one does not have all the answers and cannot see what lies ahead, it is frightening….but also freeing. Because if you believe that everything happens for a reason and that everything you experience is just another chance to grow, then you have nothing to lose.

Brave words indeed. I am a great talker of ideals and theories. But once reality is looking into my eyes, all words fail and I find I cannot hold its gaze. Whatever the reason (personality, temperament, environment, family of origin), matters of the heart are especially difficult to express. Even my poetry does not always speak the whole truth.

But not because I am afraid of the truth or believe in half-truths. Truth is messy. It is passionate, intense, earthy. It is personal, vulnerable, fragile. Soft and strong. It will walk through fire and rock your world. It is also, in the words of a friend, extremely enticing, enchanting, irresistible, and undeniable! Yet the merest breath of rejection at best and apathy at worst will crush its heart and bolt the door against you.

This song speaks to that fear ~ the fear of being swept away, of being frightened at losing control, of not knowing what lies down the road. And what is worse, not knowing what you want.

But after all is said and done ~ that is okay.

There’s an old cliché that says that if you name your fear, you will then have power over it. This song asks that even if the path before you ends up being not the one you want or need, what is there to lose in taking it? You will never know until you go down it.

Indeed. The question now is….will the gate at the beginning of that path swing open? Or remain closed.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

The Tempest: Calm After the Storm

Why not say it? I'm bursting out of my cocoon. It was all too nice in the past - it never knocked anyone out. But last year... my first opening night at the Met - I looked out and heard all that cheering... for me... And I loved it.
~ Benita Valente

It was not quite my opening night, but it was definitely an experience to remember! As you can see, I had become so enmeshed in my own cocoon of creativity, that I did not have time to post anything of interest or substance. Now that The Tempest has passed – quite literally – hopefully life will get back to normal – whatever that means.

The girls of PALS did a fantastic job of interpreting Dorothy’s vision of Shakespeare. Especially the young girl who played Prospero. She delivered every line with passion and precision and she stayed in character throughout the play. Unfortunately, her name escapes me at the moment.

As for the chorus – they did superb job with the score. They ended up only using four songs: Storm Music, Full Fathom Five, Caliban’s Song and Ariel’s Song (Where the Bee Buzzes)*. The choral director, Anne Marie, decided at the last minute to not have me play the piano with the girls, since I had not been practicing with them the last five weeks – something I had suggested a few weeks ago and which I wholeheartedly endorsed. This was a good idea since they had not thought to make sure a piano - the main instrument - was available for the musical. Ahhh - the joys of working with a non-profit!

Not having to perform myself also freed me to play the snide and snippy composer who listens for mistakes and embellishments of their music during a performance. However, this being my first time composing an entire score and they being junior and senior high school students, I was inclined to be lenient. ;-)

Persephone played the guitar for Caliban’s Song and Ariel’s Song; Storm Music was played on CD (to my utter horror – it was only a rough demo) and Full Fathom Five* was done a capella.

Sullivan attended the performance, as well as a few friends and all declared it a hit. Most gratifying. However, I do not think I will be attempting another such undertaking anytime soon.

Unless it is another Gothic operetta.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

*All music (c) 2006 Silver Scroll Productions

Adventures in Adversity: Part II

We should come home from adventures, and perils, and discoveries every day with new experience and character
~ Henry David Thoreau

I did not think that my recent adverse adventures in Old Towne in June could be topped. However, the Fourth of July turned out to be a day for adventures, perils and discoveries that make my adventures on June 10 look tame. Beth and the Boy were in town for the Fourth of July weekend and after a long Monday afternoon visiting wineries in and around Middleburg, and evening spent enjoying the rehearsal of A Capitol Fourth on the west lawn of the Capitol, we lounged around Tuesday morning and just enjoyed the fine art of being.

As you know, Sullivan, Ann and I worked on the Tempest and other music for most of the afternoon. In between composing, I would periodically visit the kitchen and check on the fried chicken and potatoes I was making for our simple Fourth of July dinner.

I was actually disappointed when five o’clock rolled around and I had to get ready for the party we were all going to. It was one of the those typical DC area Catholic parties where you don’t necessarily know either the hosts or the guests but you get invited by at least one person that you do know. The big draw for this particular party was that there was going to be live music (and you know me, baby: it’s all about the music!) and then everyone was going to head to Key Bridge to watch the fireworks.

I had the bright idea that we would take a bus that stopped near our neighborhood to get to the party since parking would be non-existent. This is what we did and it was a great party and I actually did know almost everyone there (big shocker there!). After a glorious fireworks show, we went back to the house for about an hour and half of great live music played by four talented gentlemen: the Rickster (my favorite drummer), Dave (bass guitar), Tim (the host - guitar/vocals) and Brian (guitar/vocals). I know Rick and Dave, had only met Tim once and didn’t know Brian. Brian blew everyone there away ~ some great covers from each decade (60s to the 90s).

After the last song, Sullivan, Jeanette, Di, Beth and the Boy and me headed down to the metro to catch the bus back to my house. One piece of advice, never have a melancholic/phlegmatic plan out transportation. At least not this one. Music, cooking and entertaining – I’m the Queen. Anything else – fuhgitabouit! My previous adventure with transportation should have been a warning.

There was no bus back to the house. Metro was running on the weekend schedule. Joy and rapture. No problem. Trains were still running. We would take the train to the closest station and catch a bus from there.

We got out of the station and after about 10 minutes realized that the bus I thought would be there was not running any longer either. We approached a couple of Metro personnel ~ one of which was the station manager who said he didn’t know anything. Wonderful. This should have been the first clue that things could only go from bad to worse. We should have called a cab right then. But we decided to trust the other Metro guy.

We walked across the street to wait for another bus, which did show up. I asked the driver if he went to the two cross streets near us. He said yes, so we all climbed aboard. This was at 12:40 am. After dropping us off at the end of the line and saying that he was not going to the cross streets we needed, he went off duty. Welcome to DC and government run transportation. And yes, Sullivan, I concede that DC Metro should run more like the NYC subway system – at least in terms of running times.

Two cabs, $34 and over an hour later, we crawled out of two cabs and said bleary-eyed goodbyes to Jeanette, Sullivan and the Boy. Of course it would be the two melancholic-phlegmatic night owls that were the only ones who had to get up early for work the next day.

Definitely a Fourth of July to remember.

Happy Birthday, America! :-)

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Tempest Update

Music is a means of rapid transportation.
~ John Cage

Tuesday morning I didn’t feel like doing anything much except composing and playing the piano. Sullivan was heading over so we could work on the Tempest project and our friend Ann, whom we had also roped in help us compose. We had previously composed 4 songs and sent them along to Dorothy and the choral director: Full Fathom Five, Caliban’s Song, Three Men of Sin and Storm Music.*

The day before, Beth had pretended to play a one-fingered concerto ~ three notes of which triggered something in the Muse. I asked her play them again and then came up with bones of a song, the melody of which I could not remember the very next day! (One would think I would have learned by now to write everything down! Argh!)

Anyway, while waiting for Sullivan to arrive, I tried to remember the melody of the new song. It was very frustrating, but I finally had to let it go and re-write it. By the time I had resigned myself to re-writing it, Sullivan had come in and we then spent a good hour on this new composition, which for lack of a better descriptive title, we’re calling The Wall.* It’s a song that asks whether one is open to love. Everyone, including yours truly was surprised at how hopeful and relatively major it sounded. :-)

Ann had not made it in yet, so Sullivan left to go to the store. While he was gone, she arrived and we promptly wrote two more songs for the Tempest: The Marriage Blessing* and Ariel’s Song (Where the Bee Buzzes).* Both those pieces had been giving all three of us conniptions. Dorothy wanted the marriage piece written in a southern gospel style and Ariel’s Song written in a Broadway show tune style (think June is Bustin’ Out All Over). None of us had ever written anything in either style.

The Muse was working over time however, and we were able to compose both (although Broadway turned into Big Band). We sang them both over and over to make sure we liked them and once Sullivan came back, we recorded both of them. Ann then played a song she had written a couple of years ago, which we all thought would be perfect as the underscoring for Prospero’s Banishment* and we were done for the day.

7 songs down and about 4 to go! Woo hoo!

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

*© 2006 Silver Scroll Productions. All Rights Reserved.

Dappled Poetry

An author who speaks about his own books is almost as bad as a mother who talks about her own children.
~ Benjamin Disraeli

That being said, I am pleased as punch to announce that Dappled Things has once again deemed some of my poetry fit for the public eye. I was also pleasantly surprised to see that the poem they published, “Meditation” was also quoted in their email announcement of the latest issue, which is filled with the talent of many young writers.

Enjoy!

Oremus pro invicem,

Mikaela

Sweet Tea on the Porch

The best kind of friend is the kind you can sit on a porch swing with, never say a word, then walk away feeling like it was the best conversation that you ever had.
~ Unknown

There is nothing quite so comforting and relaxing as a wide front porch with a few good friends scattered here and there in rocking chairs and on banisters. When that porch is facing the Potomac River and it is a glorious June afternoon, even better.

Yesterday was just such an occasion. The friends were a group from my adopted parish and the porch belonged to a priest friend. After he said Mass for us (ad orientem no less!), the gentlemen fired up the grill and we ate burgers and avocado salad (heavenly!) while Father regaled us with tales of rolling deacons, good ol’ boy golfers and the like (if he had not been accepted by the sem I am sure he would have made his mark in Vegas as a stand up). ;-)

As odd as it may seem for a die hard Southerner such as myself, I grew up without a breezy front porch. It is more a stoop or a portico then an honest to goodness sittin’ and rockin’ Southerner front porch. Being thus deprived has not tainted me too much. I have set up 6 course dinners in the orchard, picnicked on the patio and served tea under the tall, matronly maples.

A couple of visits ago, Mom had mentioned wanting to add an honest to goodness porch on the front of the house. At the time, the atheistic in me said no – that is not going to go with the façade of the house (Federal, although we traced its history back to the early 1900’s). But after yesterday, I long for a front porch on which to sip a tall glass of sweet tea, with a fan in one hand and the current favorite cookbook in the other. Now I wonder if there is some way of making that wish a reality without ruining the clean lines of the existing façade.

Until then, I will have to content myself with sitting with friends anywhere and everywhere we find a comfortable and inviting spot. And in the end, that is what a porch is for ~ a place for creating memories, sharing old ones and sipping sweet tea within the warm embrace of friendship and a warm Southern night.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Unanswered Questions

I roamed the countryside searching for answers to things I did not understand.

~Leonardo da Vinci

…..and by the end of my sojourn, I had written a new song. In minor key (of course) and about forgetting the ones who love you the most and the need for forgiveness. At any speed, life enables us to just fly by, sometimes not connecting with those we love for perhaps days or weeks at a time.

For those of us who have a seemingly insurmountable difficulty in expressing the deep, passionate feelings we harbor for loved ones in the depths of our soul, this disconnect happens all too often. I think of friends and loved ones all the time but that rarely becomes translated to words ~ either written or spoken. If I am very blessed, it does flow out into lyrics and melody, but even then, can be shaded in metaphor, the depths remaining unplumbed.

How much of this is the result of the overwhelming weight of living life day to day? How much is the result of the heart’s reluctance to open itself up to being misunderstood at best or ridiculed at worst? It is very easy to say that a life lived in fear is a life half-lived. That it is better to open oneself up and risk it all for one taste of heaven then to live closed and never taste the rain….or the sun. But is the pain really worth it?

This new song provides no answers. Only asks more questions. And begs forgiveness.

Oremus pro invicem,
Miakela

Adventures in Adversity

Never shall I forget the time I spent with you.
Please continue to be my friend, as you will always find me yours.
~ Ludwig Van Beethoven

The test of a true friendship is adversity. And if that friend who rides through adversity with you can also turn that ride into an adventure, then surely his friendship is true.

My dear friend Sinjin was in town this past weekend for a mutual friend’s ordination. It had been almost a year since I saw him last and our correspondence has been at best sporadic and at worst non-existent. This is not too surprising considering that we are both very busy and happen to live two states apart. But we were thicker than tea leaves in a Royal Doulton tea cup in our undergrad days. So we were ecstatic that we would have at least a few hours here and there to go over old memories and make new ones.

We decided to leave the ordination reception fairly early and since we had about five hours to kill until the dinner reception that night, we went out for a somewhat more substantial lunch. I do not cater those receptions; ergo food is not made for Cox’s Army, but rather for their pet birds!

After driving around Arlington for a few blocks, we settled on Tara Thai on Fairfax Drive. If you have not been there, go. The décor is a tad bright and strange but the food is unbelievable. At one point, Sinjin pointed to the pendant lights, made to look like tiny jellyfish, saying that he first thought they were extremely dusty!

After a wonderful lunch (it was surprising we were able to eat anything we were laughing so much!), we headed to Old Towne Alexandria to kill time. We got quite a few stares as Sinjin was wearing his cassock. Too bad he didn’t have his biretta with him! Or even better, his cappello romano! :-)

We sat on the marina and continued to talk about our college escapades, absent college friends and his thoughts on Rome. We laughed quietly at PDAing couples who would glance over at him right after engaging in some very wet romantic clutches. In unison, we sighed, rolled our eyes and wondered aloud who they were trying to convince, us or themselves? People watching is such a hoot! Honestly, folks, put that mess away! ;-)

Realizing that it was almost time to be at the dinner reception, we walked quickly back to the car. And this is when our real adventure began. The dear Ukaristmobile would not start. Not after Sinjin blessed it. Nor after he cursed it. Nor after I prayed desperately to St. Joseph. Sinjin and I turned to stare at each other in dismay. This was not good.

After a few phone calls, Di and Scotti, two of my housemates, came to our rescue. First, we tried hooking the car up to automotive CPR. This did not work. Not even after running Di's engine for over thirty minutes. Several gentlemen came by and took a look under the hood, but to no avail. Scotti kindly called AAA for a tow and then we waited. And waited. And waited some more.

At this point I was on the verge of tears and a migraine. The inner workings of cars are beyond the ken of this damsal and I believe it is one of the many responsibilities that are best left to the stronger sex. On top of this feeling, I felt terrible that Sinjin was missing the reception. He however, proved his friendship by turning to me and saying, “Well, I am not terribly upset to be stuck here ~ at least it gives us more time to spend together, albeit not in the way we had planned!”

All in all, it was a glorious evening to be marooned in Old Towne ~ the weather was on its best behavior. The four of us took turns babysitting the car ~ Sinjin and I walked to Starbucks (have you tried the Blackberry Green Tea Frappacino? Decadent!) and Di and Scotti went to Ben and Jerry’s. With the car doors open to take advantage of a sweet June breeze off the Potomac and the CD player blasting opera, I said a prayer of thanksgiving for gift of friends ~ especially steadfast and true ones! They turn adversity into adventure. :-)

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Flawed Wall Art

I like the fact that in ancient Chinese art the great painters always included a deliberate flaw in their work: human creation is never perfect.
~ Unknown

A flawed painting my dining room certainly is. In case you have not noticed yet, I love art in all its forms and the decoration of one’s home is definitely an art form. So I was thrilled when my landlady came over one day a few weeks ago and said she wanted to freshen up the walls in the dining room and living room with a new coat of paint. I enthusiastically offered my talents and hands in helping. This would be especially needed in the dining room where almost all four walls were plastered with hideous granny-floral wallpaper. This (we both agreed) would need to be stripped and the walls washed before painting began. I should have stripped it that night or the next day.

After a long day at work, I was greeted at the door by my housemates with the words: “Don’t be too upset.” The dining room was white ~ with patches of blue floral wallpaper bleeding through here and there. It was with great effort that I opened my eyes again and shut my mouth.

That was a few weeks ago and last night my housemate Mary and I talked about colour and flow and the weekend. Instead of going somewhere fun or relaxing, Mary and I are staying home this weekend and painting the dining room. If we are really ambitious we might even get to the living room, but it is the dining room that is in dire need of some serious paint TLC!

So today I visited Lowe’s on my lunch break and came away with a bag full of paint chips and pamphlets and a few plants for the garden. Mary and I had decided on a shade of cranberry. But after sleeping on it (in my cranberry painted boudoir) I was not as keen on painting the dining room the same colour. I am not afraid of colour, especially dark colours. I love them. But I want to do something different with this new canvas.

Hopefully, we can look at the paint chips tonight, choose a colour (or two) and then I will buy the paint tomorrow and we’ll be good to go.

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

Unleashing the Tempest

All I try to do is write music that feels meaningful to me,
that has commitment and passion behind it.
~ Bruce Springsteen

After this weekend, I’m either committed or I need to be committed. My friend Dotto is directing a production of The Tempest and needed a score written. A score consisting of an overture (naturally) and a few song and dance numbers in the styles of 1) Caribbean steel drums, 2) Hip-hop, 3) gospel and 4) melancholic ballad. I have only written melancholic ballads (aka funeral dirges as my mother calls them). I have never written 1), 2) or 3). For that matter, I have not written an overture, nor a full score for a play. So what do I do? I say yes of course! I think my Muse fainted.

This took place on Friday. Over an excellent grilled salmon, accompanied by grilled sweet potatoes and succulent green peppers, fresh mushrooms simmered in garlic butter and red-wine and a couple of Coronas, Dotto, Sullivan and I discussed ideas, script, feel and courage. And aptitude. I brought up those last two. It is the blessing/curse of the melancholic to be able to see the big picture and every little detail that can bring that big picture crashing to the ground. I think of everything that could go wrong.

As we enjoyed grilled pound cake with bananas and rum-kissed real whipped cream in the candlelit backyard, both Sullivan and Dotto (also both melancholics) endeavored to ease my fears. However, they were not completely put at ease until Saturday, when I talked to Ann S. at the wedding reception of our mutual friends and fellow Christendom grads, Kristy and Jeff E.

Ann also composes ~ a fact I forgot until I sat down to bring her up to speed on my current doings. Then I grabbed her by the shoulder and turned to Sullivan (who also knew the happy couple) and said – “Oh wow! That’s right ~ she composes ~ we must talk to her!” This we did. And now there are three composers. I hope this does not mean the same thing as three cooks in the kitchen.

However, in this case, I do not think there is any danger of that. The three of us bring different talents and it is not as scary to share the burden of a whole score with at least 5 major song and dance numbers with two other artists.

Fears and insecurities aside, Sunday afternoon (with absolutely glorious weather!) I sat down at the piano (which needs yet another tuning! Argh!!!) and after just brushing the keys with my fingertips for a couple of bars, came up with a partial tune for the overture/Ariel’s Song. My Muse must have recovered from her earlier shock. But this is only the beginning. We shall see whether the tune stands up to replay and other ears and whether the (royal) We will be able to withstand the pressure of her perfectionist self and looming deadlines.

To be continued….

Oremus pro invicem,
Mikaela

The First Meeting

The greatest part of a writer's time is spent in reading,
in order to write, a man will turn over half a library to make one book.
~ Samuel Johnson

The inaugural meeting of the American Inklings was a blast last night. There was perhaps a little more gab and less creative criticism than I would have liked. My dears, for me to read you my poems and for you to say “Well done! I love it!” is not to love me nor my work. So Sullivan (aka King Alfred) and I decided that we need to have a little more structure if the vision we have for the group is to become reality.

In order to get some true critiques going, we thought that for our next meeting, we would make it a rule that each member should pick something that they do not like about someone’s work. This forces the listener to listen closely to the words, meter, rhyme and flow of the work being discussed. So the first part of the meeting will be devoted to original works and their critique.

For the second half we decided that we would do a reading of a published writer. As all those present were fans of Shakespeare, Hamlet was unanimously chosen for our next meeting.

The second and fourth Wednesdays turned out to be in conflict with another meeting that most of our members and I myself attend. So the next meeting will not be until June 7 and from there on we will meet every first and third Wednesday. 7 o’clock seems to work well for everyone. The only other change we will make it the physical place we meet. There are a few who would need to be near a metro stop and most are closer to D.C. and Arlington then they are to Reston. So Sullivan and I will be prowling the pubs searching for a suitable place for the A. Inklings to gather.

Hope you can join us in June!

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela

Of Steak and Friendship

You're to come away at once, out of danger. I've got a motor-car and a basket of strawberries and a bottle of Chateau Peyraguey which isn't a wine you've ever tasted, so don't pretend. It's heaven with strawberries.
~ Evelyn Waugh, Brideshead Revisited

Now that I have posted that quote (ahh the memories of my junior year of college that it evokes!), it strikes me as being wonderfully suited to the text of an invitation for an impromptu summer soiree. I will have to start planning one right away! But that is for another post on another evening….

Last Wednesday, I had a few friends help me move a couch I had just purchased (a beautiful piece to help formalize my living room) and I thanked them by grilling some beautiful sirloin steaks and frying up some potatoes with rosemary and mushrooms in a red wine sauce.

I had planned on feeding them, but the date and the menu were impromptu. And I must say, that a thrown together, intimate supper with friends is so satisfying to the soul. Anyone who knows me has become familiar with the large, fun and at times boisterous parties (ranging from 40 attendees to over 100) that I have thrown or enjoy attending.

But I am a melancholic-phlegmatic introvert. “Small is beautiful.” Really. Can you truly enter into the mystery that is your friend if there are 39 to 99 other people needing to be attended to, fed or any of the other services a hostess renders?

No. The mystery and sacredness of friendship demand a respectful quiet. Time to listen, to contemplate the countenance of one’s friend and to enter into the expression they are sharing with you in that moment. To be heard is to be known and respected. And to be known and respected is to be loved.

How wonderful to be able to pick up the phone and say, I have steaks and the grill is fired up. Come on over and set a spell. And let us enter into the mystery of each other. For by doing so, we become better men and women.

Thank you for sharing a little of your mystery with me, my friends. I treasure you.

Oremus pro invicem,
~ Mikaela