We’re getting good at this culture thing, L and I. Since she’s retired and I’m hanging about waiting to be employable again, we’re trying to engage our brains with the outside world. We both have other things to do and lives to lead, so this drive to ‘culture’ is a good move- things we may be mildly curious about but not motivated enough to do on our own, we’re now doing. Book readings, music events, plays; each of us enjoying more of the city life than previously.
On Thursday, I dragged myself out of bed after lunchtime. After coffee, I texted L to let her know I was both upright and washed. The show was on.
There was a boat.
There was a cello, fairy lights, wine and masses of food. Many, many people.
I wasn’t familiar with Bernie McGill’s work, but our friendly local librarian had tried to encourage me to participate in a creative writing workshop Bernie held recently. I demurred, anxious, fearful of setting myself up to be something somehow grander than a plodding personal blogger.
I’ll go the next time.
Bernie read one of her stories, “The Bells Were Ringing Out”, and I was hooked.
That. That’s what I want to be able to do. I want my mind to be able to paint pictures, to send your minds off on spirals of thought, emotion and wonder.
Now I just need to work on developing an imagination.