Tuesday, August 16, 2011

The End of Time

Mid-August, and it seems like the summer is almost over. Vacations are coming to an end, people are winding down — kids are preparing to head back to school. The sun is setting earlier, which means the days are shorter. As the pace, in general, seems to slow, I feel like I'm just getting wound up.

It’s been a long summer, a summer filled with challenges, joy and sorrow, laughter and tears. I’ve had to face some of my fears, deal with painful situations … ask myself some very tough questions in order to confront my present and my future, and my place in the world.

But let me focus on the positive.

My first solo exhibition in Sherbrooke, Me, Myself and I (Entre moi et moi) was a modest success. I’ve reincorporated my weekly long run (12 km), on Sunday mornings, as I try to keep active and stay fit. I’ve set out what I think is a modest schedule to keep me on track, and engaged, in the artistic arenas that I’m passionate about. Writing: I’m currently working on the synopsis to my next novel (final edits are complete) and I’m working on a new long fiction piece. Painting: After a long absence I’ve made it back into the studio and have started on, what I hope will be, a new series. Music: I’m working out a new song. I’ve finally tackled, somewhat successfully I might add, Felix Mendelssohn’s Song without Words Op. 38, No. 6, and am determined to master Leo Weiner’s Fox Dance. With my modest schedule established, and when I stick to it, I not only feel like I’m making progress, I see it. All of a sudden, things that once seemed daunting — like Beethoven’s Six Easy Variations in G Major — seem doable. That if I simply show up daily at the page, the easel, the piano — and follow the simple maxim, “Easy does it” — that anything is possible.

As the day slowly draws to a close, the mouth-watering aroma of chocolate and oatmeal cookies fills my kitchen. I’ve had a productive day. For the last couple of months I’ve been stalled, trying to go forward yet uncertain as to where I was hoping to go. This morning, as I waved and said “Bonjour !” to the woman I sometimes see walking her German Shepherd while I was putting in my morning run, it came to me. This place called Sherbrooke — it may not be the place where I was born, but it is home.

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