SUNDAYS WITH SHARON: Living in Cinderella

Harry Chapin once said that every song he wrote had some little part of his life, some emotion he was feeling, or experience he remembered, and that it was impossible to be a songwriter without this "gift" as he called it.

I feel the same way as a writer. My early days as a child molded me in a very big way. We lived in Oakland when I was little, until my family moved to Palo Alto, where I lived until college. My parents bought the house from our pastor. It was way bigger than we needed, so my parents had two "grandmothers" who boarded two of the upstairs three bedrooms. The third bedroom was mine. My windows faced my mother's flower garden, some half acre going up a hillside. I used to spend hours and hours looking out that window at the garden and imagining all sorts of things in my future. Adventures and stories, and most of them love stories.

My best friend sent me this, the exact player I used to listen to!

I think I was about three when I moved in there. At first, I was scared, being all alone. We didn't get
the boarders for the first year. So I had the creaking upstairs all to myself--the locked attic doors at the side of the large staircase, and the empty rooms waiting for someone to come stay with us. My parents bought me a little record player, and I used to sit there all alone and listen to my stories on that single switch player, playing Walt Disney '45's, of Snow White, Cinderella, Hans Christian Anderson fairy tales sung by Danny Kaye.

These tales, especially Cinderella, resonated with me. It didn't take much imagination for me to put myself in Cinderella's shoes, waiting for my handsome Prince Charming to come take me away. I loved the beautiful blue gown with the lace trim made by her bird friends, as she danced the whole night in the arms of that dark-haired prince. I matched the tilt of her head, imagined what the feel of his hand would be on her tiny waist, imagined what the stars would be like as we'd twirl, and the ballroom would be transformed into some magical place where all things are possible and the future is brighter than the present.

I think I never stopped living there, really. I played those records so often, it's a wonder they didn't

wear out. I'd cry at the sad parts, and cry really hard at the Happily Ever After. I think those days were the happiest for me as a child. Being left alone, listening to songs and music and the spoken word of a love story.

And now it resonates with me. Life has come full circle. I've completed perhaps my "job" of being a mother, a dutiful wife, a career and income generator. I've done all those things for others, as well as myself. Now these days are for me, my gift to myself for a life worked hard for. I get to experience the fantasy of a life in the Happily Ever After, even if reality isn't there yet. I get to live in the fantasy of what could be. I no longer wish for the same things I did as a younger woman. I want to wrap myself in love stories and I don't care about reality.

I'm lucky enough to be living in Cinderella. It's as if I will manifest this fairy tale the more I write about it, the more I feel it. I gladly give up this world for that one.

I hear music. I feel like dancing. Won't you come along?

Just Another Wednesday Night in Paradise

Welcome to Sonoma County, California, land of old hippies, some of whom became successful in other fields other than Dead-Heading. Some stayed the same and never waste an excuse to dance freely anywhere there is a band with a great beat. Some quietly tap to tunes and pretend they still have their long hair, which died of natural causes.

We had a great time last night at the Wednesday Night Market, which goes from 6 to fish every Wednesday in the downtown Santa Rosa area all summer long. I bought my favorite yellow and white peaches that come from Fresno (the season is about a month ahead of ours). I love the flirtatious Mushroom Guy who took some of my chickens and the Hummus Guy who always seems to have something new.

My grandson is learning about pointing and getting his way. My granddaughter just learns more about the exuberance of being alive, being patient waiting in line for the Jump-Up and portable slides.

Back to the band, Gator Beat. When I get rich enough to have a decent party, they are going to be my

entertainment. I've loved Zydeco music ever since I first heard it in the '70's. We saw Sir Clifton in Cotati when a washboard was something you played music on, rather than something a woman would lace her red fingernails down. Ahem.

Okay, so you know you're a little bit off the beaten path when the most popular booth is the reptile exhibit, "get to know your snakes," sort of thing, like the one my mom registered me for at the Palo Alto Children's Museum called "Snakes Alive." It didn't work then, and it didn't work for me last night, either.

There was a row of chess players nearly a block long. We had the Redwood Cloggers, the ballet schools represented, a Barbershop camp, and even a few Hells Angels. Gosh I wish they hadn't trademarked that name. Catchy title, don't you think?

The photo booth was a hit. Confirms my age and the fact that gravity is still alive and well. I came home to a nice bed and soft lighting, covered in pillows my mother made.

This morning, was up early to check on the trees we'd been removing all week to make way for our new backyard landscaping.

I was inspired by the sun, the colors, the quiet beautiful weather, the birds, and my two Dobermans who jump and chase everything from airplanes to butterflies. They greet the morning with all the enthusiasm of a small child and are a constant reminder that life is good.

All is fundamentally well, as my friend, Jacquie would say.