This week, I took off from work to watch Spring break through the winter. I know it’s the time of year when it breaks through a little, and you get up hope and there’s still a snow storm or two waiting in April.
My grampy came home to visit my mother. His home is small, he raised three kids in a very small house. When we brought him to the study, Mama Duncans pride and joy right now, he was confused that there would be a living room without a TV.
His mind is like that of a child, exploring the space and comparing it to his home. “Mama Duncan has a big house doesn’t she?” Said Gramps, with a tinge of pride in his voice. “Yes she does” said my Aunt. My grandfather has become the child he always used to remind me I used to be.
Wednesday I curled up in my apartment and told my cats the story I would tell on Thrusday night. Watched them eat CD’s and steal the paper it was written on and chew it to pieces. Cats are a different audience than people, and when I gave my story on Thursday night I looked too hard into human faces, tried to wonder what they thought of me, of the story and of who I was.
Friday was international woman’s day and people wanted to hear my story, not the one I had written about the great leaders of a mixed tribe of African animals; but about who I was and why I was there and where I had been and what it was like to be me.
And this continued into the day. A story telling workshop that made me grow stronger. Being a listener to so many other women’s stories, as I had been listened to in the morning. I cried and laughed and huged strangers who are no longer strangers.
For two days I bounced in front of audiences and bravely told the story that I wrote, and each of the telling became more and more of a performance and less of me being scared I’d miss a word. I was energized all weekend. Great vegan gluten free meals great chats with friends. A refreshed inner soul.