Death as inspiration to a writer

I have not blogged lately because I have been dealing with a death in my family. It has only been five days now since he died, but how difficult to put into words what this means to me. It is a process of what was, what is not, and what will now be. It is those moments when a shock of recognition of the finality of it flow into my vision. It is the fodder of future writing.

It was night. I circled his bald head with my hand. Earlier when I did that he purred and turned his head towards his shoulder, eyes shut. Now there is nothing. Yet my other hand holds his hand and suddenly this dying person squeezes my hand twice. It was the last contact with another human being before he died. In the morning, it felt like those two squeezes were saying the most powerful words in a dying person's vocabulary: "good-bye."

Camping, Singing and garage sale freebies

On my way to the folk singing campout in Boulder Creek, I saw some free books. I got three hard cover brand new books of Harry Potter. I will hold them until my grandsons are ready. They are three now: that should be about a year at the rate they are reading.

I am trying to write a song to a friend's music. It is very complicated music, and I feel like I am writing an opera: many parts at once. Quite a challenge, and not at all like folksongs or novels. I listen to a recording of it as I drive and little-by-little the words find themselves.

I sang at the campfire, and I sang at the mike. Two heart songs: Plaisir d'Amour and The Sisters of Mercy. Quite a few members of the audience were younger and many had never heard these songs. I was delighted to re-introduce them and keep them alive.