I went to Mississippi again.  I had an excellent time teaching and promised to repeat the early period embroidery class this summer.  I adored camping and cooking with my friends.  I had a blast singing in the long hall and by the fireside, and finally performing a pair of companion pieces together, the way I should have been doing it for the last several years.

And then I got to watch my dear friend Cailleach receive her laurel–an award for excellence in scholarship and arts–and listen to a wonderful group of people speak words I’d written for her ceremony.  It was one of the finest, proudest moments of my life.  I wept openly, surrounded by friends who understood how touched I was.  They laughed at me for being a sap, but they held my hands and patted my back all the while.

And then my friend Gwen twisted my arm and made me participate in a performing arts contest.  I knew my friends would come along to cheer me.  I was not prepared for the amazing reception my work received from folks who didn’t know me.  I really, really wasn’t prepared for a couple of true luminaries to come to our camp to request a command performance and present me with an award in front of my people under the roof of our hall.  I’m gobsmacked, and humbled, and shocked.

Where’s my pen?  My voice is shredded, but oh, how I want to sing.

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