Core

noun

• the tough central part of various fruits, containing the seeds
• the central or most important part of something, in particular.
• [often as modifier] the part of something that is central to its existence or character
• an important or unchanging group of people forming the central part of a larger body.
• the dense central region of a planet, especially the nickel-iron inner part of the earth.
• the central part of a nuclear reactor, which contains the fissile material.
• the muscles of the torso, especially the lower back and abdominal area, which assist in the maintenance of good posture, balance, etc.
• the inner strand of an electrical cable or rope.
• a piece of soft iron forming the center of an electromagnet or an induction coil.
• an internal mold filling a space to be left hollow in a casting.
• a cylindrical sample of rock, ice, or other material obtained by boring with a hollow drill.
• Archaeology a piece of flint from which flakes or blades have been removed.

verb
[with object]

• remove the tough central part and seeds from (a fruit)

Phrases
to the core
to the depths of one’s being
used to indicate that someone possesses a characteristic to a very high degree
Origin:
Middle English: of unknown origin

http://oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/core
__________________________________________________________________________

When I attended The Gathering at Keystone a little over a month ago, I took part in a workshop in which I began to create a personal mandala.  This week, after intermittent progress over the last few weeks, I completed the piece.  It is my core. 

For this week, while it isn't the best photograph, I present you a visual entry, my core...

 

 

 

Express

express
verb [with object]

• convey (a thought or feeling) in words or by gestures and conduct
• (express oneself) say what one thinks or means
• Mathematics represent (a number, relation, or property) by a figure, symbol, or formula
• Genetics cause (an inherited characteristic or gene) to appear in a phenotype

Origin:
late Middle English (also in the sense 'press out, obtain by squeezing', used figuratively to mean 'extort'): from Old French expresser, based on Latin ex- 'out' + pressare 'to press' http://oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/english/express?q=express

http://media.syracuse.com/entertainment/photo/9957429-large.jpg

_________________________________________________________________
On Christmas morning, when I was 13, I opened a card from my parents after all the other gifts had been opened and found a pair of tickets to see The Phantom of the Opera at The Academy of Music and I cried.

The day my mother and I went to see the show, we received a letter in the mail saying that charges of child abuse, which had been filed against my father through a call to an anonymous hotline, were being dropped and we went to see the show. As I sat in the theater, and the overture began, I cried. I'd stop crying and start and stop and start and it was as if there wasn't a thing I could do to prevent myself from succumbing to the waves of emotion pounding against my insides in conjunction with the flow of the score, the movement of the actors and actresses, and with the shifting of sets.

While still living at home, I saw a few other shows at The Academy of Music in Philadelphia. When I travelled to England between my sophomore and junior years in high school, I saw Miss Saigon in London. I've seen a number of plays and musicals performed by local theater companies and schools.

Four years ago, in July, I went to see my first show on Broadway. Kim and I went into the city just a few short days before I was to have the mediastinoscopy surgery ultimately responsible for diagnosing me with cancer. We saw The Phantom of the Opera. And as I sat in the theater, and the overture began, I cried. From the very first note, the tears pressed out.

Since then, Kim and I returned to the city to see War Horse at Lincoln Center and you would be correct to assume, as I sat in the theater and the music began, I cried.

A week ago today, Kim and I took our 13 year old nephew, Randy, for his first trip into the city to see The Lion King. Over lunch we joked about how I cry at shows while we sipped down fun beverages in flashing light cups. He made sure I knew there was only the sad part when Mufasa dies and I let him know it wasn't, in totality, about the sad. It was bigger than the sad, though I couldn't, exactly, explain it to him. I'm not entirely certain I can explain it to myself.

But it isn't and hasn't been just theater. And it isn't and hasn't just been professional performers. The same wave swallows me when a marching band passes by me, something reinforced last night as we drove by the Scranton High School stadium and the Drum and Bugle Corps Championship was going on. The same wave rolls when I watch Randy play in band or hear a particularly powerful choir. The same wave rolls when I hear a song at just the right moment in just the right way. It is the same wave that rolls when a poem is read in a way that I fold into the author. The performance doesn't have to be live. But it has to be real. The reality of the passion in the moment pulls the tears out. And perhaps it is most noticeable for me when I'm involved in theater, be it as an audience member or as a part of the cast or orchestra, because it is differently multi-sensory.  All of those creative aspects I am most passionate about are, or can be, a part of theater. 

A huge part of this world-- most of it actually-- has fallen away from me over the last ten years or so. In elementary school, I played cottage cheese in a school musical. In middle school, I split the role of Friar Tuck with a fellow student in a production of Robin Hood, was a school counselor in another musical, and was the witch from Hansel and Gretel in a play performed for a local elementary school. In high school, I was in the pit orchestra for The Sound of Music. 

The importance of this world started to fall back in when we made that first trip to NY for my second viewing of Phantom. I fell even further in at War Horse and when taking a local playwriting course with a former Wilkes classmate. It was at that point I recognized the unique quality of theatrical dialogue, how it sounds, but more importantly how it writes. The first time I wrote more than a few lines of character dialogue, I was fascinated at how naturally characters could speak with one another, how naturally the dialogue and the movement perpetuated itself. And in a world, my world, where the force of silence has been so strong the ease of their voices astonished me. The ease of the self that is the character's natural self displayed astonished me.  The organic movement of story fascinates me.

When all the elements come together, creating a robust story where any given element or elements have the ability to perpetuate the message, to sew together the threads, to mesh our own worlds with these other worlds, I cry. When I see passionate people, passionately doing something they are deeply passionate about, I cry. When I'm reminded of how I felt being a part of these other worlds, momentary breaths where I escaped my own, I cry.  I cry when I come back from the transport to another place, another time, another feeling.  And yes, it is also about the sad parts, like the one Randy warned me of when Mufasa dies but, mostly, it's about so very much more.

Close

close

 adjective

• a short distance away or apart in space or time
• with very little or no space in between; dense
• narrowly enclosed
• [predic.] (close to) very near to (being or doing something)
• (with reference to a competitive situation) won or likely to be won by only a small amount or distance
• [attributive] denoting a family member who is part of a person’s immediate family, typically a parent or sibling
• (of a person or relationship) on very affectionate or intimate terms
• (of a connection or resemblance) strong
• (of observation, examination, etc.) done in a careful and thorough way
• carefully guarded
• not willing to give away money or information; secretive
• uncomfortably humid or airless

adverb

• in a position so as to be very near to someone or something

http://oxforddictionaries.com/us/definition/american_english/close?q=close

____________________________________________________________________________

 

As has been tradition for the past several years, on the first weekend in August we make a trip up to see hot air balloons launch.  Most often, we rise well before the sun in order to make the hour or so trip to see the first of the balloons rise into the sky around 6:30 AM. 

 

Nearly every year, the weather has cooperated at one point or another.  As I monitored the forecast for the Binghamton, NY area throughout week, it looked more and more likely that rain and storms would threaten one of my very favorite weekends of the year.  Then, on Friday, the forecast changed.

 

So, on Friday night I set the alarm for 4 AM and went to bed early.  I woke around 12. And then at 2. And then at 3 from a dream where I was at a pool, standing on the surrounding tile deck, giving directions about how to fix various structural issues.  Some sort of giant something crashed into the side of the room housing the pool after my last suggestion and the room started to fill with water.  The pool, it seems, was under the ocean.  It filled the space almost instantly and I, along with whomever the other person was, would drown within seconds.  She yelled for help.  I whispered goodbye.  Needless to say, I did not fall back to sleep after the dream.  So, at 3:50, I jumped in the shower, before we fed the animals, fed ourselves, took note of the wet pavement from the night's rain, and headed out.

 

Dawn was stunning.  The sun was set to rise at 5:59 AM and we watched the night sky disappear into the shades of blue and purple and pink most vivid after storms.  We stopped for a coffee seven songs into the album I had playing and with which I sang along. 

 

For most of the past several years, we've watched the balloons launch from the park where Spiedie Fest is held from the nearby Botanical Gardens.  Between the rise of the balloons, I'm able to meander through the flowers and take pictures.  Close pictures.  It is the shading and the textures and the detail I want to capture.  And as much as I love the balloons, the early morning, dew-covered gardens ease me into morning and myself in a way not a whole lot of other things can.  I get closer to myself and, as such, feel closer to everything else. 

 

Something about the details...the closeness...

 

Here are some of the images from the past few years in the gardens... Smell the textures and feel the scents...  Get close.  Ease yourself to sleep tonight and I wish, for all of you, a beautiful and peaceful week ahead.