A friend of mine asked if I’d be interested at joining a group of women she knew were interested in writing. I said “sure” and when she asked if I would be willing to read I said “of course.”
Imagine my surprise when I realized that of the 40 or so women there I was one of only four who would read! Most of the women had known each other for decades. I’d met a few over the last several years, but most were strangers. When asked what order I wanted to read in I chose first with the idea of getting it over with. I truly didn’t know what I had gotten into – sometimes it’s best that way.
I’d chosen a single posting from my blog, WhenGrandmotherSpeaks.com, Compassion When It Might Be Easier To Hate. The applause seemed genuine and I was tickled.
But I was blown away by the other performances. My friend, Cait Casey’s poetry can bring a tear to my eye of either joy or sorrow – she has the ability to spark both in me, sometimes simultaneously.
Bobby Jean Bishop’s traveling poetry took me back to camping trips with my folks up old Highway 395 along the eastern edge of the Sierras.
Helen McKenna had me laughing in identification as she poked fun at herself and the world.\
It was a grand afternoon.
Cait circulated a signup sheet to see how many would be interested in being at another reading and it looked to me like every single person in the room signed up. I know I did.
It made me want to suggest that you either put together your own reading group or look for one to participate in.