This past week has been particularly joyful, so I must share it with you.
I spent last week at a writing workshop, my first ever. I was not clear about my expectations in advance, then ended the week with some certainty that I am writing a book, that I am a writer. That’s the first time that I have written that and it feels as if I am telling the truth.
On Saturday, I had plans for three events, knowing that I could only do two. The first was a Mini Cooper event. I began at 9:00 at the dealer’s to pick up my goodie bag, which included breakfast and multiple Mini-branded items, such as socks, chewing gum, hand sanitizer, and stickers. I’m a sucker for all that Mini stuff, so I didn’t mind that I would not actually be completing the activity, which was a local scavenger hunt.
The second event began at 11:00, led by Baraka, the artist who painted my eagle. She occasionally leads workshops on finding your Goddess archetype and this was the first time I had the opportunity to participate. For years, she has painted images of goddesses and Celtic heroines. In this workshop, she laid out black and white images around the table, about twenty in all, and shares a bit about each one, before inviting each participant to choose one who most closely represents herself.
I was in the middle of the table when I stopped at Boudicca, a Celtic Queen from about 50 AD, who had fought ferociously and violently against Roman rule. Before looking at the rest of the table, I said, “I think this is me.” Baraka immediately said, “I thought you would be drawn to her.”
I continued around the rest of the table, pausing at Grace, a pirate, who appealed very much to me, but not as much as Boudicca. I chose Boudicca, despite having concerns about her violence, as I am a strong, but nonviolent protester. We spent some time first painting an image of our chosen archetype, then writing about the process and its effect on us. When I wrote about Boudicca, I recognized that instead of a sword, my weapons against injustice are my words, powerful in a different way.
Saturday was not over yet, because downtown Beverly had its first block party since Covid. I wore my new bright pink tee shirt declaring Esther for Mayor and met my friends with matching shirts. After walking the street a couple of times, we got in line at the karaoke stage. When it was our turn, we sang and danced to, “Everything little thing’s — gonna be all right!” By the time I went home, my feet hurt!
On Sunday, Quaker Meeting was held in our usual physical space for the first time in a year and a half! Then, I skipped a Zoom meeting that I wanted to attend, because I decided that I just needed a bit of unstructured time. Late afternoon, my brother came over and I shared the first couple of pages of what might be my book. “Wow!,” he said, “I’d forgotten how much you’ve done. I’d buy this book!”
Then, my husband, my brother, and I drove to my son Jack’s new place, just twenty miles away. He and Ginger greeted us with huge hugs and delicious, nutritious food, including a squash curry for me (a vegetarian) and chicken, for the others. It was our first dinner at their new place and will not be the last.
I ended the night by making reservations for next Saturday for a folk festival that I love, that hasn’t happened for two years, Falcon Ridge. I indulged myself with a hotel room, too, so I’ll be fully rested to enjoy every minute of the day.
Everything I have described here has been a joy for me, so this past week has been like a fireworks show, bursting with color, and even better, bursting with life. Then, when I turned the page of my engagement calendar, I saw the frosting on this cupcake of a week — this morning began with a massage at nine a.m.!
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