Wednesday, June 17, 2009

Under the Influence of the Druid Bard

It seems that as much as I might neglect my novel manuscript, she pursues me. Take my recent trip to Arizona for example.

I networked day and night at the National Conference for Tobacco or Health and had little time for relaxation and no time for writing, except for editing my clients’ work. I met a woman from Erie who invited me to rent a car for a day trip to Scottsdale to see Taliesin West.

I’m a fan of Frank Lloyd Wright homes, but I’d never set foot in one until last Friday. During the guided tour we learned a little about Frank’s personal life and how the house evolved from year to year. Of greatest interest to me was that the home did not have glass windows, originally. Canvas was stretched across the openings. Mrs. Wright the Third convinced Frank, over the course of 10 years, to use glass because he would then be able to work, inspired by the scenery around the house. Then, when he blasted to excavate for his cabaret, all the glass in the house shattered.

The guide told us, before we even set foot in the house, that taliesin means "shining brow." Then she talked about how the house was purposefully situated not on the top of the hill, but under the top, like a brow, so as to blend with the landscape.

This morning I got around to an Internet search for the word. I came up with some of Frank’s own words:

"Taliesin was the name of a Welsh poet, a druid-bard who sang to Wales the glories of fine art. Many legends cling to that beloved reverend name in Wales.

"Richard Hovey's charming masque, 'Taliesin,' had just made me acquainted with his image of the historic bard. Since all my relatives had Welsh names for their places, why not Taliesin for mine? . . . Literally the Welsh word means 'shining brow.'

"This hill on which Taliesin now stands as 'brow' was one of my favorite places when as a boy looking for pasque flowers I went in March sun while snow still streaked the hillsides. When you are on the low hill-crown you are out in mid-air as though swinging in a plane, the Valley and two others dropping away from you leaving the tree-tops standing below all about you."

- Frank Lloyd Wright

My Facebook friends wrote to me and suggested that I read Loving Frank. After checking the synopsis, I understand that this story of taboo love is meant to inspire me to finish "Acoustic Memory." And so I must return to the influence of the bard.

Why Not Phoenix?


I’m in Phoenix. There’s a pigeon at my feet at the Starbucks table, a waning moon has paused between twin towers across the street, and my US News and World Report hasn’t told me anything my teenager did not presciently discuss with me on the day before I left. Panhandling and mandated health insurance have one thing in common: They’re both controversial. One of them is very pressing right now—I keep getting harassed for money by panhandlers—feels much like Chapel Hill.

Phoenix was a fork in the road for me in 1997. The song that was on the radio in my rental car was the Gin Blossoms “Follow You Down.” I was offered a job at Good Samaritan Hospital and belabored the decision. I recall that they did a fairly good job of courting me. The very friendly Mass General trained female in the group took me in her Land Rover on a tour of expensive digs that looked like adobes. We cruised past the Scottsdale Neimans (I was in a blue pinstripe suit from the Houston Galleria Neimans). She gave me the word on the guys in the group and told me that being single was no problem: She met her surgeon husband in the doctor’s lounge at Good Sam. (I bit back the “been there, done that.”) They could have enticed me with a hike on Camelback (well, I hiked it anyway by myself) or pictures of the head partner’s cabin in the mountains that was only discussed in the context of his car when we went to dinner. “He drives an economy car because he sinks his money into his weekend retreat.”

In the end there was my darling Ella, a daycare child, who would be in a very hot climate (as if Houston wasn’t hot enough) and there was a grad student at Baylor, who struck me as a fun guy. Now there is a son, Samuel; a husband; Beckley, the Baylor grad; and Ella with a recently diagnosed proclivity for making preneoplastic moles. Forget the Arizona sun; the moon across the street tells me I made the right decision. Now the only phoenix in my life is the one on my husband's tattoo.

Friday, June 5, 2009

Takin' It to the Streets

It's funny just how jam-packed a life can become when you are living fearlessly. I'm approaching the 6-month mark of a resolution to take it to the streets.

I'm putting more miles on the car, spending more time with real world people, meeting one on one with exceptional folks with stellar track records, and finding myself moving forward on many fronts. I'm filming a video that has teenagers enthusiastically asking to participate. I'm following a big idea dream that has talented people jumping on board. I'm aiming for backing from the WHO and the CDC. I'm watching legislative committee meetings. I'm reading political blogs.

Just in the past thirty days I've interviewed a pilot home from Charlie Wilson's war, spent two hours in the office of the executive director of the National African American Tobacco Prevention Network, bent the ear of a National Urban Fellows graduate, and made plans to work on a storyboard with a filmmaker in Austin. I've attended a freelance writers' seminar, registered for the National Conference on Tobacco or Health, and listened to the M.D. Anderson Cancer Center Chair of the Cullen Trust for Health Care speak on tobacco and health disparities.

New words in my vocabulary include ecological momentary assessment, MPOWER and F-scanning.

The people around me inspire me: I learned that my next-door neighbor is on the board of Africa Rising, that James Protzman's political blog rocks, and that altruism is alive and well at the Splinter Group.

My community is asking me for more. I've been asked to speak at two state employee functions, to write a letter to the editor of the local papers and to consider how I would like to contribute to leadership in the American Lung Association.

All of this for a girl that used to be chained to a microscope. Now I'm holding on to whatever I can find.