Fields of Gold

Here's the reality--tons of writers romanticize everything. It's part of the job description. I don't place myself under their banner yet, but I hope to one day. Until I achieve something a little loftier than winning a local writing contest at the age of ten, and being published in poetry anthologies for which the published must pay, I'm still an apprentice.

I think I'm learning the ropes pretty well. I know that the topic of baking cookies with Micah is acceptable reading material, but no one really cares about the pile of dishes left in the sink afterward. Everyone likes a nice blog about the joys of summer when the season first begins, but no one wants to read about a Louisiana August, in which all of the vegetation has been obliterated by the cruel sun, in which the triple digit heat index overstays its welcome, and how the simplest tasks, even indoors, make you wonder if the shower was even worth it. If Summer had overextended its visit for one day longer, I would have rebelled. I felt so bullied by that triple digit heat index that I came "this close" to exchanging romanticism for---squeal!---realism. I would have pummeled you like a hungover John Steinbeck. Thankfully for you all, while I was involved in Curtains, something magical happened--Sir Summer surrendered to the gentler climate and richer palette of Fair Fall.

Autumn's entrance in the South is rarely distinct or official. She drifts in with a sense of serenity, and an undercurrent of humility. She has no need to announce herself. Why should she? We all know when she walks into the room. Her presence is obvious, breathtaking. She is a little frustrating in that she ambles in and out, bullied around by Sir Summer who can't seem to relinquish his rights to the year. It's no wonder that I'm not sure exactly when she was ushered in by cooler breezes and that dank, smoky smell the fallen leaves take on, but she's here now. Hopefully, she will prop up her feet, and stay awhile. I'm sorry I missed the moment the doors between one season and another flew open, but I was distracted by other good things.

Although Curtains was the dominate activity for the past 8 weeks, I was also busy with mothering, wifery, housekeeping and teaching. I know that you don't care about dirty toddler diapers, mildew growing in the shower, or that I was making dinners around the same time I made lunch every day, so I thought I would limit myself to the highlights.

I will begin with my new music discovery--Mumford and Sons. This British group creates a genius combination of folk, bluegrass, rock and piercing lyrics. I couldn't decide which song I liked best, so I thought I would share one that is pretty iconic of their work, which you can listen to on the playlist provided below if you are at a computer with speakers and no workplace firewall to block your fun.


I began teaching piano and voice lessons the last week of August, and managed to hang on by my fingernails as Curtains entered into technical rehearsals, then performances. It's always amazing to me how children grow, mature and develop over the short course of a summer. The little girls I taught last year are looking more like little women, and students who couldn't sit still for half an hour last spring are doing brilliantly in hour long lessons this fall. Brandon and I also began teaching Sunday School again at Crossroads. We are glad to be back with our class from last year, just one year older, a few inches taller and a few vocabulary words wiser!

During the weeks I was involved with the show, I worked on Micah's baby book in my precious spare time. I used Shutterfly.com to upload my images, design my book and publish it. They did a beautiful job, and I'm very pleased with the product! Shutterfly photo books are user friendly, quick, painless and reasonably priced. It provides the perfect approach to documenting memories at this time in my life. What mom doesn't like fast, cheap and awesome?

The front cover

My letter to Micah and first photo

Probably my favorite page

Back cover

One Saturday, I came home from either a rehearsal or a performance--I forget because it all runs together in my mind--to find our living space painted and redecorated . . . man's man style. You may remember the battle of wills that waged until I chose to give in, realizing that I never give in, even to the person I claim to love. I will admit that although it isn't to my taste, that it isn't the nightmare I had imagined, either. Several people have really liked it. Everyone else has found some level of appreciation for it. I just have to ignore the creep factor of having the heads of dead animals protruding from my walls. (Too much realism for you? Me, too.)

How am I doing? I'm . . . coping.

I think that pretty much says it all.

Sandwiched in between the two weekend runs of Curtains were two very important events--my first time conducting a choir in 2 years and Brandon's 31st birthday. I conducted a joint choir, which included members from Crossroads in Ruston, Christ Community Church and John Knox Presbyterian Church, for the World Communion Sunday service at John Knox. It worked out surprisingly well, but I'm not sure how much of the success can be attributed to me. I was so nervous that I was freezing for the entire service, convulsing with nervous chills and uncontrollable nervous yawning until the song was complete. I also began the piece too fast. Fortunately, the organist was very good, and followed me right into a slower tempo.

Brandon turned 31 on September 21st. His birthday was on a Tuesday. He worked all day long, and just wanted to come home and relax. He had also been working really hard for the past 4 months so I could get some stage time. Almost every day, he would come home from work, pick up Micah from the grandparent on duty, feed him dinner, bathe him, and put him to bed. That is a lot to put on a guy whose job entails holding human life in his hands on a daily basis. So, I wanted to make the evening special for him.

I cooked one of his favorite dinners . . .
went to great lengths to bake him a real, glutenous,
highly-poisonous-to-myself birthday cake . . .

bought him a video game, allowing him to unwind by mass murdering the villains . . .

and made sure he was rewarded by lots of birthday kisses,
both captured and not captured on camera.

This tightly packed bushel of events hit me line a ton of bricks. Until my third 10 hour night of sleep, I was asking questions like, "Where am I?," "What am I supposed to be doing?," "What's my name again?" because I have been so TIRED after all that has gone on. On the other hand, I had been feeling like I had missed out on quite enough Micah time. So . . . for the past few days, I have aligned my schedule with his, and basked in the sunshine, the crisp air and the glow of his tiny soul.

I remember heading outside with him the first day we were able to share alone. I wanted to etch the happiness of the moment in my memory. I knew the only way I could do it was if I provided a soundtrack to our outdoor play. I brought out my Ipod, strapped it on (no headphones, just a light buzz from the small speakers), and selected the only song that made sense to me in that moment. The breeze blew into our faces gently. Golden rays peeked down at us from the tree tops, dancing in and around Micah's curls. The smell of autumn wafted from the woods to the tips of our noses, and just like that, those precious, slow moments with my son were forever burned into my memory with the help of Eva Cassidy's "Fields of Gold." What a perfect soundtrack to that hour . . . Micah felicitously discovering the world around him, teaching me how to once again marvel at the various sizes and shapes of sticks, the indigo vastness of the sky, and the joy of holding a katydid in the palm of my hand. His squeals of delight and his baby songs of contentment are sealed in my mind and heart. I remember sighing with pleasure as I drank in creation, watching him toddle about the yard and knowing that I was living in those fields of gold.

Welcome, Fair Fall, and all of your lovely fields.

I have worn a million hats thus far this fall, but the MOM hat? It fits just right.

"Peek-a-boo, Mama!"

And I didn't even tell you that I soured three loads of laundry this week by forgetting they were in the washer. How's that for romanticism?

Where am I, again? What am I supposed to be doing?

Show People

Disorganized. Messy. Slapdash. Exhausting. Exhilarating. Arduous. Sensational. Funny. Memorable. Joyous. Nostalgic. Sad. All of these adjectives come to mind when I reflect on the past few weeks. They have passed by in a whirlwind. A disorganized, messy, slapdash, exhausting, exhilarating, arduous, sensational, funny, memorable, joyous, nostalgic, sad whirlwind. Now that the winds have died, the debris has landed and the dust has settled, I want to write about it. I won't write about everything, but I will write what I don't mind being read.

The most consuming activity of the past several weeks was Curtains, the musical comedy whodunit. Seriously. This play ate two months of my life. I'm mostly okay with that, but there will be no more plays for quite awhile. I had the privilege and delight of bringing the character of Nikki Harris to life. Nikki is about as airheaded as they come, but somehow manages to make dumb and kind of annoying come across as charm. I don't know how she does it. Maybe it's the red hair.When I auditioned for this show, I was sure I had the Lord's blessing. When I was cast as a principle, I was exultant. I loved the story. I loved the music. I loved the character. But the price I paid to perform this show was extremely high. If I had been handed a slip of paper that detailed all that would befall me throughout the rehearsal process and the performances, I would have thrown it back, and asked, "Are you kidding me?" I am quite sure that I wouldn't have done the show. I am also quite sure that I'm glad I was handed no such slip of paper.

Had I been, it would have read something like this:

Blood. Yes, literally. (However, the spilling of my own blood probably had less to do with the show and more to do with my mishap magnetism, dismal depth perception and general lack of respect for very solid set pieces.)
Sweat. (Dude. The choreography was intense. If I never have to high kick again, it may be too soon.)
Tears.
Time away from husband and son. (Lots of time away from them.)
Pain.
Uncomfortable conversations.
Hurt feelings.
Betrayal. (Not mine and not my fault, but I was still a participant.)
An array of miscellany. (The boring, the mundane and the too private to talk about on a public blog.)

I don't really want to delve into this list because the point of this post isn't how bad things were while being involved with this show. It's really about why, in light of all of that happened, I'm still glad I did the show.

Easily, the number one reason I'm glad I did this show is because I caught a glimpse of my own frailty. Odd reason, I know. However, anytime a Christian has to face their frailty, it causes them to seek strength from the Lord. For weeks, I was absolutely at the end of myself, and I am quite sure that if I hadn't had supernatural help, I wouldn't have made it. I immersed myself in God's word and prayer. I listened to sermons and worship music during the car rides to and from rehearsal. I got a taste of what it is to walk in the Spirit, and that is a very, very good thing. Regrettably, I did not keep it up as I should have. There was a moment when I subconsciously decided that things had improved enough that I could handle them on my own. Why am I so stupid? Why can't I learn? But for a few weeks there, I experienced the Lord in a way that I had not before. And you know what? I'll never be satisfied with a mediocre walk with the Lord again because I know what it can be.

The second reason I'm glad I did this show is because I was able to spend so much time with some dear and dearly missed friends from my college days. I was also able to make new ones! Elizabeth, it was so good to work with you again. You keep impressing me with your growing talents. Madonna, we are sisters from different misters. I love you so much . . . even though something ridiculous happens almost every time we are together. I am so happy that we got one more show together.The third reason I'm so happy I did this show is because I had the opportunity to work with a truly great choreographer. Greg Baccarini is one of the best teachers I've ever had because he taught me to do things I've always wanted to be able to do and never thought I would learn. The choreography was hard for everyone, but I managed to do it--believably. He taught this tense, clumsy, control-freak of a woman to relax, surrender, trust and be led by a man without the influence of alcohol. Hard to believe, I know! Greg, if you read this, know that I'm so very grateful.

The fourth reason I'm happy I did this show is because of this show, this story, this music, this character. If you aren't familiar with the plot, music and characters of Curtains, you are missing out. I love the way it was written, the music is really special and the characters and relationships are funny, interesting and have surprising depth. It's extraordinary, really.

The fifth and final reason I'm glad I was in this show is because I'm a show person. There are few thrills equal to performing on stage for me. When I'm up there, I have so. much. fun! I hunger for this kind of thing, and feel a little starved when I'm not doing it. I can't really explain it any better than that, so I'm going to get a little help from one of the showstopper numbers from the score:

"We're a special kind of people
known as show people.
We live in a world of our own.
Our days are tied to curtains,
they rise and they fall.
We're born every night
at half hour call.
We can't picture being anything
but show people.
Civilians find the whole thing quite bizarre.
But that hop in our hearts
when the overture starts
lets us know how lucky we are.
It's an honor and a joy to be in show business.
I feel that spotlight hit me and I'm gone.
At the last curtain call,
I'm the envy of all
so I know that the show must . . .
go on . . .
show thrilling, we're show people;
and on . . .
so willing, we're show people;
and on . . .
so thrilling, the show must go on!"

I'm not sure any words on earth could describe the feeling better than those.

As much as I love the stage, I feel the need to take a good, long break from it. I'm exchanging the extreme highs and lows for something in the middle, something good for the soul. The experience of playing Nikki in this show was wonderful, but I will never play a role more important or exhilarating as those of wife and mother. It is in these roles that I find myself complete and centered. I may never get applause for playing these parts well, but that's okay. Every smile I win from my Little Red and every look in Brandon's eyes that tells me that he is happy I'm his is confirmation enough. If I can play these parts well, I will have done the best work of my life.

Babies don't wait to turn into little boys, and you stop being friends with your spouse if you stop spending time together. After some rest and focus, for however long I need it, I know that the stage will still be there . . . waiting. In the meantime, I get to enjoy lots of this . . .

And that is a very, very good thing.

Stay tuned for non-theater related recent happenings and general goings-on.

Recommended viewing:

Rabbit Heart, Lion Heart

Before reading the following post, I recommend you read this post if you have not already.

I would love to tell you that I'm brave. I would love to be able to truthfully state that I courageously campaign for just and righteous causes without a thought for myself. I would love to identify with the likes of Martin Luther King, Junior and Susan B. Anthony, inspirational people who fought for a worthy cause without much hope of seeing change occur in their lifetimes. However, my only confession is that while I sometimes like to imagine myself to be crusader of all that is good and noble, I am, at my core, a rabbit heart with only a useless dash of lion. I say it's useless because it's rarely enough to thrust me into action, but just enough to cause me to feel a restlessness within.

Since my first court date in July, I've been hyper-aware of the days ticking away one by one, approaching the dreaded date of September 10th. I've been practicing my speech and my defense for two months, but have felt it was inadequate, fearing that I would be stuck with court fees, traffic fines and two moving violations on my driving record regardless of my efforts. I have been afraid. The truth is that I would be a-okay if I never have to see that police officer again. The truth is that the judge sitting in his high seat in his black robe with his judgy demeanor intimidates me. The mere idea of reliving a terrifying experience in front of people that I must count as my enemies intimidates me, as well. I am, at my core, a rabbit heart.

Until recently, my hope has been in the town prosecutor. I have so wanted her to talk the ticket down, and remove the moving violations. It may be disappointing for some of you to read this, but I would have happily paid one of the tickets in order to avoid court. After speaking with the prosecutor last month, I had my doubts about my version of a happy ending, and began bracing myself for what was sure to be a traumatic experience. As August slipped away, I began to feel a little more desperate to find an escape route. That feeling of desperation is what propelled my hope in the correct direction. I began praying that the Lord would either intervene on my behalf, surrendering my hope of justice to Him in order to avoid court, or that He would grant me a spirit of boldness, courage and wisdom as I faced my enemies--that in either circumstance, He would be with me. I know that as long as Jesus stands with me, I can do anything, but without Him, I am only a rabbit heart.

My anxiety came to a climax this weekend. I kept trying to beat it down with prayer. It worked, but I kept slipping back into a pool of dread. Finally, I sent out an email to the strongest prayer warriors I know, asking them to join me in prayer over the issue. I felt compelled to wait until yesterday to call the prosecutor. And I would have forgotten except that two of my dearest friends came to my home for a visit yesterday, and asked about the ticket. I begged their excuse for a moment, and I dialed the prosecutor. She answered.

"Hello," I said, "my name is Melissa Keaster. You asked me to call you a couple of days before court about my traffic ticket issued in May . . . "

She told me that it was her intention to drop the careless operation charge because somehow she had gotten a copy of the blog I posted about the encounter. I don't know who gave it to her. Maybe the lawyer I met with in May? Maybe a friend? I don't know. But she knew the story. She asked me if I had been driving in the left hand lane.

I told her that I had, but that I had been passing vehicles and that I was approaching a left turn. I also told her that I remembered not being able to get out of the vehicle's way when it came bearing down upon me because there was traffic in the right hand lane. I told her that my instincts as a driver are defensive, and that I would have moved if possible.

She paused for a moment. "Okay. How about we drop both charges, and call it even?"

It was my turn to pause . . . incredulously. "Meaning that I don't have to go to court or pay anything?"

"Yes, and thank you for your patience," she finished.

"Thank you," I said.

I hung up in disbelief and utter, blessed relief. I don't have a court date tomorrow. I won't pay anything. I don't have to see the officer again. And I have learned my lesson to never drive through Sterlington alone.

I am absolutely convinced that this was a gift from God. I say that knowing that some of you will disapprove of me for not filing a complaint against the officer, for not writing a letter to the editor and for not contacting KNOE news to do an investigative story on the long time injustices of the Sterlington police. I believe that God acted on my behalf, and that this is His will. I believe that I would have gone to court, and represented myself well had that been His will, but it wasn't. It isn't. My plan of action now is to thank the Lord for this blessing, to pray for the officer when I think of him, and to warn individuals about the danger to women and children driving alone in Sterlington, Louisiana.

I refuse to boast in my own cleverness. I will not boast in the town prosecutor's generosity. I will not thank destiny or fate or the universe. "God forbid that I should boast except in the cross of our Lord Jesus Christ, by whom the world has been crucified to me, and I to the world."--Galatians 6:14

Jesus is my deliverer in every plight of body and soul, and He is the only One worthy of worship and gratitude! I hope you know that Jesus, Reader. For truly, He is the only cause worth living and dying for. For and with Him alone, I am a lion heart.

Recommended listening. Forgive the weird photos of the lead singer of the band that pop in:

The Island

It's difficult to describe the parts of the world that hold a little more magic than the other parts. The magic is in the air. Of course, you can't see the magic. Air doesn't have a color of it's own, although it is perfectly capable of borrowing color from other sources, as you will later see. Some of you already think I'm talking crazy, but if you have been to one of these more magical places of the world, one of those places where you are certain God must have taken a little more time dreaming it up, then you know what I'm talking about. You also know what I'm talking about if you have read The Chronicles of Narnia: The Magician's Nephew by C.S. Lewis, but magic is another blog topic altogether.

I'm trying to describe the place I vacationed last weekend. Little Gasparilla Island is a tiny barrier island off the west coast of Florida (Tampa side). Here is an aerial photo:


Little Gasparilla is about a 15 minute boat ride from the mainland. It's long and skinny, and situated very closely to Gasparilla Island, its big sister. I can't speak for that big sister, but the little sister is enchanting.

We arrived on a hot, miserable Friday afternoon. Our Little Red cried the entire boat ride across the bay because he didn't care for the heat, the life jacket or the delayed nap. As soon as we docked, the crying stopped. (I say it was the magic.) We were greeted by a flock of fiddler crabs at the end of the pier, waving their hellos to my sleepy son. We loaded the golf cart with our luggage, and took the short walk to the beach house where we'd be staying. Even in the heat, I was already falling in love.

We took it slow that afternoon. Micah napped. The boys rested. I rested and explored a little. I discovered that you can hear the waves pounding the sand from the front porch of the little house.


I discovered that the front yard was home to a fair sized gopher turtle.


I discovered that the walk to the beach takes less than one minute, and that I had more fingers than beachmates on this island . . .


and that's including the birds.

The only sensible thing to do about meals on the island is to bring them to the island. My uber smart and experienced friends began meal planning back in June. They knew they'd be planning around a daddy with Crohn's Disease, a mommy with a ridiculous list of allergens, and a baby who can be a little tricky to nourish at times. Danielle and Ryan did a great job with planning as you can see . . .

Danielle's dad graciously took my husband and Ryan out into the bay to catch the dinner you see in the second picture. Brandon loved the fishing, and there is something fulfilling in bringing home the bacon, frying it up and feasting upon it, even if it's fish instead of bacon. That dinner was shared by us, Danielle and Ryan (our sweet friends who brought us out there), Danielle's family, their friends and their college Sunday school class. Sharing good food with old friends and new acquaintances you will be spending eternity with . . . well, that's fulfilling, too.
Other magical moments include:

Feasting upon mangoes grown on the island.
Spending a rainy day out on the screened in porch, alternately reading and napping, listening to the ocean and the pitter patter of raindrops hitting the roof and sand in the background of our dreams . . . taking in the briny scent of the island air . . . the cool breeze caressing our skin.


Watching a storm approach, yell, "Sike!" and then dance around us . . .

Shell hunting in between storm cells . . .

Observing Micah as he makes peace the with the sand that threatens his balance, and as he makes friends with it later . . .Staying up late to talk with friends, and rising to a lazy morning and a big breakfast . . . .

Kurt Pendergrass's amazing vanilla lattes made out of Puerto Rican coffee and goat milk (just for me!) . . .

Micah's long and peaceful naps . . .

The outdoor showers . . .

And finally, the most magical moments of all . . . gathering for the sunsets . . .

and the sunsets themselves . . .




I wrote a poem about those sunsets, but it doesn't do them justice. I'll share it with you, anyway--

There is a certain sense of serenity
at sunset on the beach.
Splendor in abundance
from sputtering sea foam to eternal sky;
blues and greys, gold in rays
spin purple, rose, scarlet, fire in the heavens.
Fire in the heavens should not be,
but clouds and sea sing it it back to me.
Lovely echoes, the final throes of day
giving way to new music.
And with a sigh,
that fiery sphere sinks like a stone
into its bed of sputtering sea foam,
conceding into afterglow.

-Melissa Keaster 8/13/10


When you finally leave a place this magical, you carry a little of that magic back home with you. As I sit here writing this, reflecting upon last weekend, my heart beats in rhythm with the waves, and my eyes pool with sea water. And if I close my eyes, the salty drops drip down my face, but I can see that final sunset, smell the island air, hear the ocean lulling me with its steady, "hush, hush, hush," and feel the warmth of knowing that heaven will somehow be better than this.