Here is Good:

 Under the auspices of these creative greats,

a day to write [a writing day!].

Intersections

This past week,

 our little (big) town intersected 

with a woman well-known and much-admired,

 Margaret Atwood.

After an afternoon of interviewing at our local radio, 

after being tucked into a table for dinner at our local(ly) fine(est) bistro, she and I waited backstage at our local and loved theater
for the big moment, the whole reason she was here:

To receive Penn State's

Institute for the Arts and Humanities 

(crafted by local artists) 

Medal for Distinguished Achievement. 

[Caption reads, "That would make a good murder weapon!"]

And then she commanded the stage,

 and read to the gathered crowd from her most recent work, 

Stone Mattress.

 Made of a wry mischievous eye, she enjoyed herself,

 and allowed us to enjoy her as well.

The evening closed with a private reception,

 where persons dear to the IAH 

were given the opportunity to learn from her,

 to share with her,

 to laugh with her.

 Our lives, for just a brief moment, intersected with hers.

Then we intersected the cake

(made, of course, by our local cake-maker with local ingredients),

 and were glad that she enjoyed it enough to make it known, 

before it was time to bring the evening to an end.

And though my interactions with her were mostly made 

of flashes such as "Do you need anything?" 

and "Your book is in the green room"

and "Are you ready to go?",

here is where I am left:  

For an overall total of 24 hours, this woman's life met with the life of our Penn State little (big) community. We will never fully know her;
she will never fully know us.  But for a moment, we intersected.

And that brief merging helps us in some odd way,
it gives us a joint of strength, at the moment of perpendicular crossing.  

Somehow, it keeps us walking the path we're walking, 

as she moves on along her own.

This brief moment, Distinguished from my everyday,
helps me to see with new eyes that all of life is made of Intersection,
whether good or bad, strong or weak.
And it leaves me with the question,
 "What kind of intersections do I leave in my wake?"

Perhaps herein lies the real Achievement.

"I'm a monster," said the shadow of the Marquess suddenly. 
"Everyone says so."
The Minotaur glanced up at her.
"So are we all, dear," said the Minotaur kindly.
"The thing to decide is what kind of monster to be.
The kind who builds towns or the kind who breaks them."
~C. M. Valente, The Girl Who Fell Beneath Fairyland and Led the Revels There


[Photo Credits: Madison Mock, IAH Grad Assistant of Awesome]

Here is Good:

I waited backstage with her, smelled the waft of nail-polish as the introduction unfolded, witnessed her disinterest in the discussion of her work. And then I sat on the side and watched as she fed the audience with her wit, read her stories with meaningful lilt. I laughed when she made herself laugh, as if she'd never experienced the writing before. And I witnessed what it means to be loved, and to love back, with wisdom.

"Pose yourself a question, and then go to sleep.  

You might wake up with the answer."

~Margaret Atwood

Here is Good:

From week to week, you never know what you'll get from those Tuesday morning piano babies.  And when the ways of children look worthless through my adult eyes, I find webs of control in me begin to weave through webs of discouragement. 

["I rarely paused to listen to the narratives blooming everywhere in the garden of children in which I spent my days.  I saw myself as the bestower of place and belonging, of custom and curriculum, too often ignoring the delicate web being constructed by the children in their constant exchange of ideas the moment I stopped talking and they resumed playing." ~Vivian Paley]

But then, there's a morning like this, 

where every childlike vibe in my body is left singing.

[Teach me, how to sing.] 

Here is Good:

A Halloween piano party, special treats included.

HOL: The Finger Lakes Edition

By now you may have heard of these darling old friends of mine,

and of the tri-yearly get-togethers we refer to as HOL 

[Hashing Out Life].

This fall edition found us in a charming bungalow,

full of interesting artifact,

settled lakeside in the Finger Lakes.

It also found us with some lovely extras,

having added Lisa's parents into our HOL fold.

We spent our time doing what the Finger Lakes demand in Fall:

Tasting tasty wine treats,

[perhaps too many of them....?]

scoping out the leafy scene,

amusing ourselves around town while 

waiting for a table at a local place sure to please.

We returned home to late night 

reading/napping/quietly-conversing 

in our cozy little house,

and early the next morning headed out 

to beat the crowds at Watkins Glen Gorge.

The gorge-eousness [ha!] awaiting us did not disappoint:

We meandered slowly enough to please the photographers among us,

enjoying all the place had to offer,

enjoying each other.

And though the chill in the air kept me from removing 

my hands from my pockets for much of the weekend,

the time together left me
feeling warm as could be.

HOL forever! Amen, and amen.

Here is Good:

The thought:

What is beautiful more;
Perfection? Or redemption?