My door is a collie dog we have taken into our home. I have never had a dog, never wanted a dog (mainly frightened after being bitten by a rottweiler) but my partner loves them. I am struggling to say Yes as I suffer from Bad hay-fever or is it dog dander? How to give an open yes, not a closed one! Wairua is a lovely dog,
I so love this poem, Phyllis... not only as a former girl percussionist (whose parents amazingly allowed me to become one), but because in my day, as in yours, it was rare for girls to play brass instruments. And oh, yes, that longing so comes through for "forbidden things she desires / to hold like a yearned-for friend."
And that little hand at the end of the poem so moves me:
I absolutely loved this format and hope you will, in fact, utilize it again. The poem was perfect. While I was one who bought into all the “girl” messages, I admire those who even thought to question them at a young age. It took me several decades to get there. What a wonderful way to start my morning this has been!
My “door” is seeing myself as creative, especially writing poetry. Fear of not being perfect, my old companion, is not helpful. I am inching into it, so I may show up at the weekly poetry pick me up at some point soon.
After being wooed by a door for the last couple of years, I finally agreed to step in. Rented a violin. Started up some safe online lessons. Was shocked and delighted to find myself nonstop smiling while plucking just two simple notes back and forth for a long while. Pure joy,
It had been a very long time since my whole self had been so taken.
I love the poem Phyllis, another reminder of how fear keeps us from living our dreams.
I just stepped inside a door that I'd feared opening because of technical challenges and limitations (the virtual EmpowerHER Summit, thank you for being a part of it), and right up to the first day of the event, doubt and feelings of imperfection hounded me. But it went live as scheduled I'm getting positive feedback. I'm glad I stepped through that door and thanks to learning to live grateful, I'm letting go of the need to be perfect. I'm ready for the next door, whatever it may be. Thanks Phyllis for your gentle nudges!
Phyllis your poem is beautiful. In reading and rereading it, I ponder and wonder about my own grade school experiences, having grown up in a small farming community in OH. Although my mother loved music and saw to it that we all took four years of piano lessons, I never embraced music. I loved being outside with my dad, playing ball and exploring “wild spaces”. In reflecting on it now, I am astonished that as a young Mennonite girl, that I don’t recall feeling limited to girlie things. My dad shared his ball glove with me and so in grade school, I played ball with the boys. I also had the responsibility of helping my grandfather with milking cows before school in the morning as I moved into my middle school years.
I like your question regarding doors that are before us, and will do well to ponder that in the coming days.
Music is a door for me, into harmony, giving strength to challenge the disharmony in life. When the world is too much with us, there's another world through that doorway. The college concert choir presents their Yuletide Concert this afternoon. At some point they will walk out that stage door and come into the audience, standing next to us in song. What could be better!
I think that poem is done! I really enjoyed hearing it.
I had planned, in my retirement, to study something hard, something my brain didn't like, something like algebra or statistics. Once retired, I realized I didn't want to use my time that way. I had studied classical guitar as a teenager and abandoned it when it got hard. I taught my children basic chords on the guitar and they quickly became more proficient at playing songs than I had ever been. So when I retired, I picked up my guitar again and a friend, a professional guitarist, said he'd teach me the music theory. I've been studying with him for almost five years now. Every time he brings in music theory, my mind shuts him out, leaving only a tiny crack for it to seep in. But now I'm playing Bach, Sor, etc.. I've also picked up my dad's Dobro, the first guitar I ever held, and am learning some wonderful finger-style pieces on that. I'd like to write some songs, too, but they come out as too wordy. Some day I expect at least one song to leak out. As for you, brava! And I hope you'll learn to play that mandolin too. Check out my friend and teacher here: https://www.dorianmichael.com
I played guitar for myself and my children for years and then stopped. Not sure why. I was somehow immobilized. I'd take it out every once in a while but was mostly afraid of it. No clue why.
Last May I gifted it to my daughter for one of my grandchildren and I'm pretty sure it is not being played. I found I missed it, but that guitar, bought in the 1970s, seemed too big. So, I bought a baritone ukulele, which is essentially a 4 string guitar. I started playing, felt I still wanted a guitar, so purchased a smaller parlor/travel size guitar.
I spent a lot of time being self critical about my ability, watching YouTube videos, and trying online lessons. Recently, I decided to just let my music come through me, no criticism, no judgment, no holds barred. And I realized that is just fine, I like how it sounds. Instead of being afraid of playing, I once again enjoy it! But I still cannot play a barre chord. Oh well. 🤷
I am one of the newer (newest?) here, so this was my first experience with your Sunday offering. The format worked for me, as I am just getting to know you.
The poem was a familiar theme as a woman who will soon see 72. The restrictions and shapings of those times still linger and occasionally rise to stop me. I thank you for giving beautiful voice to a lived experience.
The doors, the doors, the doors. Sigh...... Arrgghh...... There are so many along my hallway of life. I am feeling pulled to create things, music, art, stories like at no other time in my life. I’ll let you know which ones I open and peer into.
For now, I continue to say yes to beauty as best I can. May you find grace and joy in the new music in your life. Thank you Phyllis. 🙏🏼
Oooooo, so many doors to choose from! I'm doing a lot of peeking right now, not fully opening those doors, but opening them just enough to satisfy my curiosity. Job opportunities, volunteer opportunities, writing, the future....they are all scary and awesome! I had an image in my mind as I listened to your riff on music and dreams and doors of Jack Skellington coming across the holiday doors in the forest as he was walking, trying to shake the blues and boredom that had come over him. Well, he certainly didn't hesitate to open a door. As we know, the story gets worse before it gets better. Everything turns out alright in the end, with Jack renewed and ready to tackle his own life once again. I feel my doors are a bit like that. They may lead me somewhere, or they may lead me back to what I'm doing with a feeling of renewal and energy. Only time will tell.
p.s. I did like this format and I liked the story about your journey with music. And the poem! I almost forgot about that. WOW, did that hit home. My story was a bit opposite. When I had the opportunity to be in band, my dad wanted me to have nothing to do with flutes or clarinets or anything like that. No, he had me pick the oboe. THE OBOE! I lost heart as it was too darned hard for me to play. My music career ended very quickly. I still wonder what he was thinking....
Not yet able to name the closed doors that await my touch. I am reminded of doors I crashed they believing I needed to do just that and now realizing I was participating in my own continued use being kept! Your being with us right on my screen seeing you and hearing your words was so good. Your offerings are wonderful, but you are the "really real!"
My door is a collie dog we have taken into our home. I have never had a dog, never wanted a dog (mainly frightened after being bitten by a rottweiler) but my partner loves them. I am struggling to say Yes as I suffer from Bad hay-fever or is it dog dander? How to give an open yes, not a closed one! Wairua is a lovely dog,
I so love this poem, Phyllis... not only as a former girl percussionist (whose parents amazingly allowed me to become one), but because in my day, as in yours, it was rare for girls to play brass instruments. And oh, yes, that longing so comes through for "forbidden things she desires / to hold like a yearned-for friend."
And that little hand at the end of the poem so moves me:
"trying to scribble Big,
with perfect spelling,
already desperate
to make music
of its own."
Bravo, you, poet!
I love that poem! Perfect for our times back then! maybe in some places even now :(
I absolutely loved this format and hope you will, in fact, utilize it again. The poem was perfect. While I was one who bought into all the “girl” messages, I admire those who even thought to question them at a young age. It took me several decades to get there. What a wonderful way to start my morning this has been!
My “door” is seeing myself as creative, especially writing poetry. Fear of not being perfect, my old companion, is not helpful. I am inching into it, so I may show up at the weekly poetry pick me up at some point soon.
After being wooed by a door for the last couple of years, I finally agreed to step in. Rented a violin. Started up some safe online lessons. Was shocked and delighted to find myself nonstop smiling while plucking just two simple notes back and forth for a long while. Pure joy,
It had been a very long time since my whole self had been so taken.
I love the poem Phyllis, another reminder of how fear keeps us from living our dreams.
I just stepped inside a door that I'd feared opening because of technical challenges and limitations (the virtual EmpowerHER Summit, thank you for being a part of it), and right up to the first day of the event, doubt and feelings of imperfection hounded me. But it went live as scheduled I'm getting positive feedback. I'm glad I stepped through that door and thanks to learning to live grateful, I'm letting go of the need to be perfect. I'm ready for the next door, whatever it may be. Thanks Phyllis for your gentle nudges!
The older I get, the wider my “doors to enjoyment” seem to become ….one of the gifts of advanced age . I turn 77 next year 😊
Loved your poem, Phyllis 👌🏻 And smiled wide about “forgery” on the bus 😄
Phyllis your poem is beautiful. In reading and rereading it, I ponder and wonder about my own grade school experiences, having grown up in a small farming community in OH. Although my mother loved music and saw to it that we all took four years of piano lessons, I never embraced music. I loved being outside with my dad, playing ball and exploring “wild spaces”. In reflecting on it now, I am astonished that as a young Mennonite girl, that I don’t recall feeling limited to girlie things. My dad shared his ball glove with me and so in grade school, I played ball with the boys. I also had the responsibility of helping my grandfather with milking cows before school in the morning as I moved into my middle school years.
I like your question regarding doors that are before us, and will do well to ponder that in the coming days.
Music is a door for me, into harmony, giving strength to challenge the disharmony in life. When the world is too much with us, there's another world through that doorway. The college concert choir presents their Yuletide Concert this afternoon. At some point they will walk out that stage door and come into the audience, standing next to us in song. What could be better!
I think that poem is done! I really enjoyed hearing it.
I had planned, in my retirement, to study something hard, something my brain didn't like, something like algebra or statistics. Once retired, I realized I didn't want to use my time that way. I had studied classical guitar as a teenager and abandoned it when it got hard. I taught my children basic chords on the guitar and they quickly became more proficient at playing songs than I had ever been. So when I retired, I picked up my guitar again and a friend, a professional guitarist, said he'd teach me the music theory. I've been studying with him for almost five years now. Every time he brings in music theory, my mind shuts him out, leaving only a tiny crack for it to seep in. But now I'm playing Bach, Sor, etc.. I've also picked up my dad's Dobro, the first guitar I ever held, and am learning some wonderful finger-style pieces on that. I'd like to write some songs, too, but they come out as too wordy. Some day I expect at least one song to leak out. As for you, brava! And I hope you'll learn to play that mandolin too. Check out my friend and teacher here: https://www.dorianmichael.com
I played guitar for myself and my children for years and then stopped. Not sure why. I was somehow immobilized. I'd take it out every once in a while but was mostly afraid of it. No clue why.
Last May I gifted it to my daughter for one of my grandchildren and I'm pretty sure it is not being played. I found I missed it, but that guitar, bought in the 1970s, seemed too big. So, I bought a baritone ukulele, which is essentially a 4 string guitar. I started playing, felt I still wanted a guitar, so purchased a smaller parlor/travel size guitar.
I spent a lot of time being self critical about my ability, watching YouTube videos, and trying online lessons. Recently, I decided to just let my music come through me, no criticism, no judgment, no holds barred. And I realized that is just fine, I like how it sounds. Instead of being afraid of playing, I once again enjoy it! But I still cannot play a barre chord. Oh well. 🤷
I am one of the newer (newest?) here, so this was my first experience with your Sunday offering. The format worked for me, as I am just getting to know you.
The poem was a familiar theme as a woman who will soon see 72. The restrictions and shapings of those times still linger and occasionally rise to stop me. I thank you for giving beautiful voice to a lived experience.
The doors, the doors, the doors. Sigh...... Arrgghh...... There are so many along my hallway of life. I am feeling pulled to create things, music, art, stories like at no other time in my life. I’ll let you know which ones I open and peer into.
For now, I continue to say yes to beauty as best I can. May you find grace and joy in the new music in your life. Thank you Phyllis. 🙏🏼
Deal!!
Oooooo, so many doors to choose from! I'm doing a lot of peeking right now, not fully opening those doors, but opening them just enough to satisfy my curiosity. Job opportunities, volunteer opportunities, writing, the future....they are all scary and awesome! I had an image in my mind as I listened to your riff on music and dreams and doors of Jack Skellington coming across the holiday doors in the forest as he was walking, trying to shake the blues and boredom that had come over him. Well, he certainly didn't hesitate to open a door. As we know, the story gets worse before it gets better. Everything turns out alright in the end, with Jack renewed and ready to tackle his own life once again. I feel my doors are a bit like that. They may lead me somewhere, or they may lead me back to what I'm doing with a feeling of renewal and energy. Only time will tell.
p.s. I did like this format and I liked the story about your journey with music. And the poem! I almost forgot about that. WOW, did that hit home. My story was a bit opposite. When I had the opportunity to be in band, my dad wanted me to have nothing to do with flutes or clarinets or anything like that. No, he had me pick the oboe. THE OBOE! I lost heart as it was too darned hard for me to play. My music career ended very quickly. I still wonder what he was thinking....
Not yet able to name the closed doors that await my touch. I am reminded of doors I crashed they believing I needed to do just that and now realizing I was participating in my own continued use being kept! Your being with us right on my screen seeing you and hearing your words was so good. Your offerings are wonderful, but you are the "really real!"