The Music Changed

The snow is welcome, the cold isn’t. Snow has been falling off and on since yesterday morning. Travel was frightening. I don’t go out in snowy weather if I don’t have to, but I had a test at the hospital. Real fun, too. I got to drink some yukky stuff(technical term) and get a CAT scan on my bladder. Of course, it took longer than it was suppose to. So, I had to rush to get my mother and take her for her H1N1 shot.(Another frustrating situation. Especially since, I just heard from a daughter-in-law that my clinic now has the shots available there. There is a great convoluted story I should relate here but I’m still so frustrated about the whole thing I can’t seem to organize my words into something coherent. Uuuugggg, expresses it pretty much the way it’s in my head today.)

Then, next week, a scope for the same. It’s all to make sure the tiny bit of blood still in my urine is from the MPGN. Not something more serious. So, I worry(stress) and say a bunch more prayers, try to remember all I have to be grateful for(wonderful kids and grandkids, my mother, my husband, a great sister, loving and loyal pets, writing, and enough) cuss from writing plan upheavals and then, I plug along.

So, I’ve been thinking (if my husband was reading this, he'd shudder)…I’m starting to want to expand my writing. Finally, I’m getting the itch to write something bigger. I’m wanting to write a novel again. This is at once, wonderful and scary. (Do I dare when I could get sick again? Damn it, TiGi, you can’t let this run your life.) There is all the old things that need working on and submitting. I know I should do that. Anything that rise to the top, you know, things that are really good but for a little fixing, really should get out into the world.

And yet, I read this quote: When the music changes, so does the dance. —Hausa Proverb, and feel the truth in that for me. Though things are much the same, everything has changed, too. The last two years have put me in such a different place.

An idea for a new story has been hovering, knocking around in my mind for the last few weeks. Very faint, but tantalizing. One thought that doesn’t ever let go, though, is how short a time we all have and most likely, it’s shorter than we think and much shorter than we want. To me, this means I strike out toward the writing I most want to do, the writing that stirs me. So, to quote a song from my son's rock and roll days: An' here I go again on my own, going down the only road I've ever known.