Retreat No More

It is Memorial Day weekend, the kick-off to summer. Please, don’t forget to honor those who have made the ultimate sacrifice for you and me and our Country.

If you’ve been paying attention here, you’ve been noticing a bit of a drop in productivity. Some of this is do to the positive progress of our femme fatale and therefore a lack of reportable actions. This is not a bad thing. Some of it is distractions of the daily grind. Then, there is that last one, that long stretch between President’s Day and Memorial Day where there is no officially declared holiday to interrupt the routine. Last weekend I made a break for it.

For the first time in my life I attended a retreat. This was not a religious retreat, except in the sense that music and the written word are soul saving for me. This was a writer’s retreat. But it turned out to be more than an introspective getaway.

It was billed as “A Retreat of One’s Own – The Gathering of Writers and Songwriters.” About 35 of us were squirreled away in Greenbo State Park, a three hour eastbound trip from Louisville. The presenters were local, regional and national literary figures - authors, publishers, poets, professors, musicians and songwriters. The whole weekend was a moderated round table of improvement through sharing.

The staff served as tour guides through story and song, stopping along the way to highlight points of interest and snapshot opportunities that we could take back as keepsakes. There were casual classes and readings and song-stylings. Following the evening program, the real gathering took place. A circle was formed and all were encouraged to join in with instrument or voice or whatever else you may think to proffer. They called it a swarp. This is a new term for me, but having now participated, I can describe it as a social, intellectual and musical swap meet. I heard more great songs and stories in a weekend than I could cram into years of reading and listening in my routine settings.

All of these gifted people were approachable and friendly and genuinely willing to be helpful in the cause of getting better at our craft. Yes, I said our, because, for three short days I was part of a writer’s community. Even though I may have felt like a voyeur peering through a window, they threw open the sash and invited me in.

A few of these wildly talented people kindheartedly complimented me on my contributions. Were they merely being supportive? Well, yes, in a sense, but, they went out of their way to give encouragement, more than just polite approval following delivery of a number. A quick pat on the shoulder while passing in the chow line, “I enjoyed your music last night,” was extremely helpful in making me feel part of the group. After returning home, I received one “awesome” comment via email and the greatest accolade I could get from a singer-songwriter, a request to cover one my tunes. I could not be more honored if John Hiatt or Joni Mitchell just made the same request! For the past few days my path has been paved with clouds. I am still lighter than air, still in performance shock.

Although I did not list it on the evaluation sheet, the title for the weekend was completely wrong - one’s own retreat? How can that be? With the rejuvenation and refreshment which came from the mutual respect and experience of the participants, I disagree with the singularity of the billing. My experience was enriched by the contributions of the others. I can not lay individual claim to any part of the venture. It was more of a partnership, separate streams joining to become a creek and then branching back out to meander along their own paths, leaving some of our carriage and carrying away more than was brought.

Hopefully, I can incorporate some of what I learned into this blog to improve your experience. And despite the everyday chores and lengthy stretch between holidays, may I find the time and words to use this outlet to help Renee individually, and we as a group, continue on a route of forward progress toward a high quality of health, for we can retreat no more.