December 04, 2005

10:30 p.m.

Instructions in English

We played a surprise birthday party for one of our fans. It was held at a UU church, so the space was nice and big, the acoustics were live and the crowd was jolly.

Meanwhile I received two messages tonight. The first was a conversation I had with a woman in the ladies' room. She offered that she'd had gastric bypass surgery a year ago and had lost 100 lbs. It came up because as she was about to leave the bathroom, she caught sight of herself in the full length mirror on the back of the door. She explained that she doesn't have a full length mirror at home, so for a moment she didn't know who that woman was! So we got to talking about her bypass, and I asked her if it had been hard to get used to. She said yes, very much, as she'd gone from eating everything in sight at all times to eating portions the size of an egg. She told me about some of the sacrifices and the difficulties with it, but said she was happy with the exchange because now she has mobility, lower blood pressure, and a smaller size. She is still quite heavy but said she's still losing. I asked her if it could ever be reversed and she said no, not without really severe surgery, and who would want that? So she'll be eating egg-sized meals forever.

It reminded me that Carol's and my petty chicken-shit whining about the five pounds we gained over Thanksgiving is just a load of crap, and cut out the cookies and shut up.

The second message was delivered at the CD table after the concert. A man came up to me and said, "I have something I want to tell you, but I'm a little nervous about it." Carol and I laughed and said, "Uh-oh!" But he continued, "I don't usually say things like this... in fact my wife is the one who is more into this, but... while you were playing I received a message for you." I remembered that someone's phone had rung during our first number, and I asked if it had been his. "No, it wasn't the phone," he said. "It was just a very strong impression, and I'm a little embarrassed to tell you, but I feel I should. The message was, 'Don't be afraid to write the good stuff.' And it was particularly for you," he added, looking at me.

"For me?" I asked, to make sure. He nodded. I looked off into space for a few moments, saying, "Don't be afraid to write the good stuff" to myself. Then I turned back to him. "Thank you," I said. "I've been waiting for a message."

We talked for a few more moments, and when he turned to go his companion, a woman, don't know if she was his wife or someone else, leaned in to me and said, "When he first told me about this, what he said was, you need to write more."

I pondered this much of the way home, suddenly not remembering whether he'd said, "Don't be afraid to write the good stuff," or "Don't be afraid to write about the good stuff." Then I talked to Steve when I got home and he said maybe it's not just songs, maybe it's prose -- he's told me all year I should write stories.

Where's that damn telegram again? Didn't it say anything else? What are the details? Where's the manual?

I take a deep breath and say thanks for guidance, which comes in such cool ways sometimes.

Dar said the Universe just whupped me upside the haid with a two-by-four.

And I realized when I got home that I actually have the next two whole days off, before a very busy couple of weeks where I'll hardly be home. I plan to treasure the next two days, do a lot of knitting and working out, meditating, and... noodling on my guitar. As instructed.