Dramatic Lyric

A Soprano's view of life, music, and handcrafts

Leave a comment

On Writing

“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“How?” I begged it back.

“How can I write what others think,

What others feel and do?

They are not me, though I created them.

I am not them, though their source is me.”


“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“Why?” I demanded back.

“These people have no claim on me.

They owe me their existence.

I alone created them.

Their source is in me.”


“Write me,” my novel begged me.

“I can’t,” I answered back.

“I haven’t the words my people deserve.

I cannot do them the justice they so greedily beg.

They are not me, and I cannot live their lives.

I am not them, and they cannot live mine.”


“Write me,” my novel begged me.

And this time I complied.

I chronicled times I’ve never lived and places I’ve never seen.

I met so many people I had never known.

They are not me, but for a time I knew them.

I am not them, but for a while they knew me.

Leave a comment

Giving Thanks

This time of year is always hard for my family. 6 years ago on the day before Thanksgiving we lost someone unexpectedly. I was thousands of miles away at college with my brother, and we rushed home, desperate to be with our family. The next 2 weeks were a whirlwind filled with tears and impossible decisions. Funeral and burial arrangements had to be made, and worldviews had to be adjusted.

The whole ordeal  has left me a little jaded on the subject of Thanksgiving. I still have so much to be thankful for, I am not denying that in any way. But there are so many sad memories surrounding the day for me now.

They say time heals all wounds. I don’t think the wounds heal so much as we get used to the pain.

Leave a comment

See and Touch

Sometimes when I knit I think about the yarn and how every single inch of it flows through my hands. I touch every bit of it. It’s not just that I feel every inch of the finished product, it’s that I see and touch all of it before it is a thing. I touch the inside. I touch the outside. I handle the inside of the fabric that no one else will ever even think of, let alone try to feel. We could even take it a step further. If you herd your own sheep, you get to shear them. You can wash and card and prepare the wool for spinning. You can spin the wool yourself to make yarn that you can then knit with.

Knitting is magic. It kind of blows my mind every time I think of it.


A Stitch in Time

I am almost done with my Grandma’s Christmas sweater. I’ve been working on this since September, starting with the sleeves. Then I soldiered through the back, which I thought would never be done. After several brief meanderings through other projects I cast on the right front earlier this week, and lo and behold! A semi-finished object! Now I only have to knit the left front, do the sewing up, and knit the lower border on. This sweater is practically done! I can almost taste it.


The back and right front (sleeves not shown)

(Is yarn-tasting a thing? Should it be?)

Leave a comment


I was shocked and saddened this morning when I heard about the Paris attacks. My heart goes out to all who were affected and all who are still being affected. It is so sad that this is what our world has come to. We live in such a global age that anything that affects one nation or area has huge ripple effects on the rest of the world.

When will the fighting stop? Is any disagreement worth a human life?

This poem by Paul Verlaine speaks of grief and sadness. Verlaine laments that he has no reason for his sorrow, but we have real cause for grief.

Il Pleure dans mon Coeur 

Il pleure dans mon coeur
Comme il pleut sur la ville.
Quelle est cette langueur
Qui pénêtre mon coeur ?

O bruit doux de la pluie
Par terre et sur les toits !
Pour un coeur qui s’ennuie,
O le chant de la pluie !

Il pleure sans raison
Dans ce coeur qui s’écoeure.
Quoi ! nulle trahison ?
Ce deuil est sans raison.

C’est bien la pire peine
De ne savoir pourquoi,
Sans amour et sans haine,
Mon coeur a tant de peine.

It Rains in My Heart 

It rains in my heart
As it rains on the town,
What languor so dark
That it soaks to my heart?

Oh sweet sound of the rain
On the earth and the roofs!
For the dull heart again,
Oh the song of the rain!

It rains for no reason
In this heart that lacks heart.
What? And no treason?
It’s grief without reason.

By far the worst pain,
Without hatred, or love,
Is no way to explain
Why my heart feels such pain!

Leave a comment

Jane Austen Knits

I love this publication. It is a yearly magazine filled with lovely knitting patterns and articles about customs in Jane Austen’s time.

I recently bought the Fall 2012 issue. I already had the 2013 and 2014, so now I just need the 2011, Summer 2012, and 2015. And, of course, every issue going forward. I’ve decided I’m going to collect this one. It’s too delicious to not!



Get every new post delivered to your Inbox.

Join 91 other followers