In some ways, this was a good week. It was exciting to open a package containing copies of Malice Domestic’s 2020 anthology, Murder Most Theatrical, in which my short story, “Missed Cue,” appears. I was also able to push ahead on my work-in-progress, writing several thousand words as I near the novel’s climax.
But it was a week that brought tough news as well. A dear friend’s son had a stroke, and the prognosis is uncertain. Meantime, a wonderful writer who had fought hard to come back from West Nile, announced she had to take a leave of absence from our writers group due to a health setback.
And, in addition to my free-floating anxiety about our nation’s political situation, I struggled with my sadness and frustration over not being able to see my far-flung grandkids and siblings. Two precious grandsons turned six this past week, and it was so painful to know I couldn’t be with either one of them to celebrate.
Compared to so many who’ve lost jobs, homes, and even loved ones during this pandemic, I know how fortunate I am. And yet, this has been hard.
I have, however, discovered an excellent fix for my down moods—making music with my husband. Although our professional dancing days are over, we continue to cherish working together on our original music. I sing, and my husband plays the guitar. Our weekly sessions truly lift my spirt and energize me. Going into the zone when we’re doing our music brings me such joy and fills me with gratitude.
All my life, music and dance have been so healing and uplifting. In these hard times, I strongly recommend hefty doses of them as therapy.