Tuesday, October 03, 2006

My father was a story teller; a raconteur. When he told a story his audience leaned forward, they hung on his words, they waited expectantly for the punch line and they weren’t disappointed. He didn’t do it to be the center of attention. He merely loved a good story and he could tell one.

I thought of him when I was in India. He would have loved it. India had stories, lots of them. Exotic sights and sounds made it an interesting story to tell. Writing a blog about my trip helped me be present in every moment – to taste the flavors, inhale the fragrance, cherish the moments – aware of the story I was part of and wanted to tell.

I didn’t want being there or telling the story to end.

But there are stories in our everyday lives that are worth sharing and I would like to tell some of mine. They will be about the things I love most – my art, my life, my father – pieces of the present, pieces of the past. I hope you will enjoy them and I hope my father will be reading over my shoulder.
Join me. Write back. Cherish the moments.