Scene One: Act One

Preamble:

In the early hours of the day, the players stand waiting

They know not their lines, their verses, their roles

Yet – they wait.

The morning doves set the stage for the performances that will unfold

What will happen?  Who will speak?  Where will time go?

And – we wait.

The dog lies comfortably on the cool ground that has yet to be affected by the day’s weather

Enter:  chipmunk stealing sunflower seed

The dog does nothing.

End Scene One

How will scene two play out today?

The anticipation builds and the audience holds its breath.  Who will speak?  Who will enter?  What will happen on a day like today?

Day 6

Day 5 is over.  Or is it?  What hang-overs continue to impact the lives of those players involved?  No one is an island.  No one operates alone.  If they try, the ripples from isolation impact and overwhelm spectators.  There is no “I” in this play.  It is all about “we”.

The birds begin the scene hopping from branch to branch trying to capture the last of the mulberries.  It is all about the moment for them.  They are hungry right now.  They act now. There is no second-guessing.  There is no perceived anxiety – it is all real.

In my head or outside my head?  Where will this performance today go?  Outside is so much easier.  There is no confusion.  It is do or die.  And mostly “do”.  A project.  A quest.  A journey.  To “do” is so much easier than to decide – to plan – to think.

Today.  Beginnings.  What will unfold?  There is hope in the morning.  The slate is clean.  A touch of a breeze disturbs the leaves of the mulberry tree.  We have “action”.  We have “impact”.  It has happened before, but this time, it is different.  It is always different.

The house is quiet.  The air thickens as the plot begins.  What is the script?  What is the script?  If only the lines had been rehearsed.  No one is prepared.  It is all ad hoc:  the clothing, the setting, the words.

Take care what happens.  Take care to make the day count.  Take care to fill it full of love and joy.

“The Moving Finger writes; and, having writ,
Moves on: nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to cancel half a Line,
Nor all thy Tears wash out a Word of it.”

Make the script count, today, players.  Make the script count.

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About inmycorner

This blog began as an opportunity to tell my Dad's stories. I sat with him and the computer and together we told stories. It was a wonderful way to get to know Dad. He was 9. He and Mom had a wonderful life together and since she passed away a year and a half before him - Dad was ready to join her. I no longer tell his stories but have found stories of my own. The impetus to resume this blog was the discovery that I had stage 4 ovarian cancer. Since blogging had been so therapeutic for my dad and I to get through our grief, I felt maybe this would be a good outlet to process my situation. I also hoped it may serve as an outreach to anyone else who is facing this very ominous journey. So far, so good.
This entry was posted in adventure, advice, attitude, life's lessons, personal story, philosophy, Poetry, Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to Scene One: Act One

  1. Judy says:

    Hoping the day is revealed in even more beautiful ways for you despite your on-going hell. You are an amazing writer.

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