Kin Domains support creativity
When our Kin Domain is a space of love, it provides just the right support for imagination to take flight. Within each of us is a painter, poet, musician, dancer, and philosopher. Here is part one of a three part short story. I hope it warms your heart and tempts you to come back to read the next installment. Enjoy.
The Musician in Me
When I was young I accompanied my mother during her many travels. Born and raised in an upper mid-west town with a rather small population, the travels definitely broadened my horizons. I looked forward to each January knowing my mother was using the time to develop her itinerary for the year.
The anticipation of seeing new places and meeting new people thrilled me. Naturally there was something in the experience for me. How could there not? Somehow, she understood that the travel had to prove exciting for me. Maybe she anticipated problems from me if it were otherwise. I wasn’t always such a respectful, cooperative child. I had my melt-down moments and even I didn’t know when they would arrive. But not her. Through that magical gift that comes with birth, she could predict and ward off most of the worst offenders.
The summer I was twelve, we traveled to the east coast. My mother had family to visit and workshops to present. Between events, we filled up with the sun and water, the stars and water, the clouds and water, and the wind and water. On her free days, she would accompany me so I could do one of my favorite activities. Making money.
Now the thought of a twelve year old making money might pique your curiosity. Most kids baby sit on occasion, deliver newspapers, rake yards, shovel snow,etc.—I did those things too, but I also had developed a special talent over the years. From age three, I had played the violin. By the age of twelve, I had four books of Suzuki violin music memorized. Along with these pieces, I also had several well-loved American fiddle songs.
With violin in hand, I could set up on any street corner in any part of the world and work. It was really a miracle. I washed, combed my hair, put on matching non-descript clothing, and walked until I located a pleasant tourist location. I took out my violin, placed two dollars of seed money into the empty black case and warmed up.
Warm up was always nerve wracking. I’m not talking practice here, I’m talking getting the tingles, twitches, and stomach jiggles out of the way so my mind could focus on the musicality and audience. When people stopped, I fixed my posture, smiled, and let the music sail out. Even amidst the wailing of sirens, screeching of car brakes, and fluttering pigeons, I could make myself big—noticeable. (End of Part One)
The Musician in Me
When I was young I accompanied my mother during her many travels. Born and raised in an upper mid-west town with a rather small population, the travels definitely broadened my horizons. I looked forward to each January knowing my mother was using the time to develop her itinerary for the year.
The anticipation of seeing new places and meeting new people thrilled me. Naturally there was something in the experience for me. How could there not? Somehow, she understood that the travel had to prove exciting for me. Maybe she anticipated problems from me if it were otherwise. I wasn’t always such a respectful, cooperative child. I had my melt-down moments and even I didn’t know when they would arrive. But not her. Through that magical gift that comes with birth, she could predict and ward off most of the worst offenders.
The summer I was twelve, we traveled to the east coast. My mother had family to visit and workshops to present. Between events, we filled up with the sun and water, the stars and water, the clouds and water, and the wind and water. On her free days, she would accompany me so I could do one of my favorite activities. Making money.
Now the thought of a twelve year old making money might pique your curiosity. Most kids baby sit on occasion, deliver newspapers, rake yards, shovel snow,etc.—I did those things too, but I also had developed a special talent over the years. From age three, I had played the violin. By the age of twelve, I had four books of Suzuki violin music memorized. Along with these pieces, I also had several well-loved American fiddle songs.
With violin in hand, I could set up on any street corner in any part of the world and work. It was really a miracle. I washed, combed my hair, put on matching non-descript clothing, and walked until I located a pleasant tourist location. I took out my violin, placed two dollars of seed money into the empty black case and warmed up.
Warm up was always nerve wracking. I’m not talking practice here, I’m talking getting the tingles, twitches, and stomach jiggles out of the way so my mind could focus on the musicality and audience. When people stopped, I fixed my posture, smiled, and let the music sail out. Even amidst the wailing of sirens, screeching of car brakes, and fluttering pigeons, I could make myself big—noticeable. (End of Part One)
posted by Julie A. Carda | 3:17 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
Subscribe to Post Comments [Atom]
<< Home