Emily, Emily, Wherefore Art Thou Emily?

I have to go learn some lines. Because I am in a play. A big play. For the first time in many, many years...

and sometimes I loathe it. Sometimes I want nothing more than to stay at home on my couch, preferably under a big warm blanket, and hide away... sometimes I want a life wrapped right up in nice soft cotton wool, where edge don't exist and it's just-right warm and muscles don't ache even when not active, where everything and me just drift and drift...

I think opium does that. I don't know. That's just what I've heard. I think it's much less appealing, that drift, from the outside point of view.

What is it about challenge that makes retreat so appealing?

I do not stay on the couch.

I push off, eat food, shower or bathe, brush teeth, drive the car to rehearsal - and usually, while there, I have a very good time.

Emily. Would she have hidden away from the world today?

Would she have been on Facebook?

Have hundreds of friends?

Why does he give so much away, the playwright? Why tell all the secrets of this most private and secretive woman? Why did he do that?

Perhaps he got them all wrong.

What do You know about Emily Dickinson? Tell me. Please.

Oh, and come see my play, if you would. January 22 through February 6. I expect by then I shall be The Belle of Amherst...

more details you may find on:

http://www.soundtheatrecompany.org/



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Retreat

When did I get so GRUMPY?

My irritability confounds me; I don't know why I have it, where it comes from, and I want it to go away.

That's not entirely true. I do, sort of, know why I have it. I'm just not sure why it's bothering me right now - sometimes it's fine, that thing.

That "mother" thing. That "wife" thing. That "job" thing.

And sometimes, like now, I HATE IT. I HATE being NEEDED. I HATE being SPOKEN TO. I hate the words I usually find adorable, the "What I neeeeeeed?" coming from my son. Usually, I love it. Usually, I pop right up and respond, lovingly, "What DO you need, my darling?"

Usually.

Tonight, I yelled. I might have said something like "Go away." But in a loud voice. Louder than I want to admit. And my husband thankfully swooped in and picked up our son and left me alone, closing the door behind them. And even that makes me angry - Why did it take him SO LONG?

I need a Retreat. I crave Silence. I long for Solitude. Long-term Solitude, beyond a bath or a closed door for 20 minutes. I'd like a couple of days.

What would I like? What's my vision?

A cabin. A cabin in the woods, with a beach nearby; lots of walking trails through silent forests. The sound of the ocean, the wind in the trees, birds. Food and drink that magically appears, or is already there waiting in the cupboards. A place to cook, if I feel like it. The perfect book. Two or three other perfect books - some fiction, some spirituality, maybe an autobiography or history. A new journal. A couple of excellent pens, blue ink, fine point, smooth gliding tips. Paint and paper. A camera. A dandy little laptop. A big bathtub, lots of candles, a big warm bed with supersoft sheets and a window that looks out at a vista.

And no one - NO ONE - around.

Solitude that is peaceful, not scary - maybe there's a nunnery over the hill where I can't see it or hear it, but I know it's there, with nun doctors and nurses, just in case I need them. Maybe they come check on me in the afternoons, to make sure I'm okay - without my ever seeing them or having to speak to them. Maybe they bring me silent baskets of food.

Four days. No - seven would be best. Maybe even more.

And I would not have to talk to anyone. I would not have to think about anyone, except myself.

I don't care if it sounds selfish. I have been selfless for over four years now. I want to be selfish. I am tired. I am GRUMPY. And I need my Retreat.





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