We are surrounded in stories here. The boys and I just joined the Passion Play, and David is in the Man of La Mancha. Yesterday Dave and I spent much of the afternoon and evening auditioning for stories in next year's season, and I'm forging a story out of Longfellow's "I Heard the Bells" poem and the circumstances of his life during that time. It's full summer around here with a full out thunderstorm yesterday (so exciting). I'm being beckoned for a bike ride...
Now I'm back and it's two days later. How did that happen? These pictures are mostly from the Passion Play. The one with Dave is from '07; he's not Jesus this year. He's in the bottom picture as Don Quixote.
The perky Weston shot is his Jewish boy "Tamar", and Donovan plays Tamar's older brother. We'll have to get him a name. (I play, surprise surprise: their mom, and I even have a "baby" whom Weston named "Rocky.")
Well, between exciting thunderstorms and riled up children and fatigue and concerts and yummy food and garden flowers and burnt noses, I haven't had time to write because any creative writing time has gone into my play.
I love writing my play and I'm scared because it's so much.
I mowed the lawn. It must have grown 3 inches after all that rain. I'm not joking. When spring takes off around here it goes fast.
The other night Weston was scared because he woke up after a nightmare and couldn't get back to sleep. I stroked his forehead and tried to get him to calm down but he kept whimpering and insisting I crawl up into his bunk and lie beside him. I could hardly stand up straight in my lightheaded tiredness, let alone clumber my frame up his teeny ladder, so I said, "Name five blessings." "I can't," he said, "I'm too scared. I just need you to lie beside me." "Name five blessings; you can do it." "...My mom and dad... my brother... my bike..." "Good Weston, that's three." "No, that's four." "OK, that's four... and number five?" "The dirt patch."
There you go: precious, simple and so sweet in his little froggy, whiney voice. I love how he said, "my brother."
We've had a rough week with something different happening every night and another bout with the Passion Play coming up. We're weary. The boys can't seem to find their rest with sunlight pouring into their room at 9:00pm even with the curtains closed. Solstice. It prolongs our days and we accomplish much, but still long for rest.
Dave's come down with a hacking cough. It actually hurts my ears when he does it. He took a little nap today after the show, even though I felt like I really wanted one too. He's got the show, so he gets priority. Tough when one is grouchy, pre-menstral and over tired with defiant boys. Oh yes, they're not always adorable like they look in the pictures. They hate it when I ask them to help. They actually yell at me. Now, is that fair? So, I put them to bed 15 minutes early tonight (whoa...) and they are still calling me and talking and singing and playing and doing all manner of evil against me to distract me from finishing my little blog in my tiny bit of "ME TIME"! Why am I so resentful? Why do I have such a passion to write and so little time to justifiably do it? Ugh!
This blog is not wrapping up in a tidy metaphor yet. I must be sustaining like the solstice sun: lingering, bright in my eyes and almost northward.... glowing, glowing, showing me that light is life-giving and long and energizing, even when children should be resting their little soft heads.
It reminds me of another longing; the one deeper down in me. The one where I not only hope to want to do what's right, but I will love to do right, naturally. Right now I feel very selfish with each interruption from the boys, and I can't wait to eat some more chocolate. -But the longing under those longings... the soul craving... wanting to be welcomed home, and receive my inheritance of a new heart, with righteousness programmed in. That longing will never go. But for some reason my light in this life is still hovering before sunset. Lingering before dipping off to the other side, shining brightest just before the horizon, before I turn the page to the next chapter of the Big Story, and I just have to keep reading.
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