I know a lot of words. (What an odd thing for a writer to say.) There are many that I know, but have never heard pronounced in real life. There are a few that I have only heard on audio book . I first heard the word “Incongruous” pronounced in a book that I think was called Reefer Madness, but I can’t quite remember if that’s the right book. I include this factoid because not being able to remember the book is probably a side effect. (Bonus points for you if you got the joke without me having to explain it.)
That little experience brings me to the next little bit: Synchronicity. I have heard this word for a long time but I never really thought about it’s meaning. ( I know that is especially strange considering the amount of time I spend trying to shake pattern and meaning into my life as if the whole world is just some giant Woolly Willy waiting for me to nudge the beads into a new shape. )
Today Synchronicity popped right off of the word list (and album cover) and into reality.
This morning I’m pretty sure the time weasels were setting their usual warped trap for me. They started by whispering an odd school yard chant in my ear so that all I could think of was Sam Honea (the tough girl in my Kindergarten class) chanting , “Jane-Jane made a machine. Joe-Joe made it go. Art-Art laid a fart and blew the whole machine a part.”
My day got off to a weird start.
I got to work with some kids today. This is always a good thing, but I did feel kind of off. (of course, the time weasels were just waiting for the right moment to blow the whole machine apart. ) I taught a quick and fun introduction to writing and actually got some interesting stuff out of my own brain. The kids told me they loved me. (The best part of any class!)
Then this afternoon I discovered that I am being recognized for my work as a playwright by The Dora Lee Langdon Center for the Arts. I will be featured in their publication, “The Langdon Review of the Arts in Texas.”
I have to say I was stunned. In a good way this time.
Pretty good day. Except maybe for the weasels. Their nefarious plot to hoist my time seems to have been foiled for another day.