potpourri?

the word potpourri has had special meaning to me for a while. i know, that sounds strange. but, it began in sixth grade. for as long as i can remember, i'd (i've?) wanted to be a famous actress (cue laughter)... i went to a couple acting camps and such when i was little, but as a sixth grader, i was fortunate enough to be on an academic 'team' (affectionately titled the constellations, in case you were wondering) that took part in theatrical training a couple times a week. we learned acting technique, read plays, and even each wrote a play of our own. at the end of the school year, several plays were chosen to be presented at a one-night-only showing titled "a potpourri of plays."

i enjoyed the title not only for the alliteration, but also because that was when i learned to spell the word "potpourri" (i still have to say pot-pour-ri in my mind, it's true). additionally, mine was one of the plays chosen. and(!), not only was it chosen, but when it was chosen the play-choosing-committee told me that they had had their eyes on my play from its beginning stages.

it was titled "the magic stone," and i got to direct my six actors through many-a-rehearsal. (incidentally, that's also when i learned how terribly bad i was at being bossy--we even had to have a heart-to-heart meeting about my cast wanting criticism [who'd ever heard of such a thing?!] and me being afraid to tell them what i wanted them to do differently). anyway, sad as i was to not be able to act in a play myself, it was quite an honor to have my show selected. the storyline was something like this (abridged): two best friends, one has a lucky charm magic stone, the other one steals it, the one who it belongs to gets hit by a car and is in critical condition, the stone-stealer feels horrible (believing that it is because she stole the stone that her friend was hurt so badly), then the stone-stealer loses the stone and has to tell her friend. but, before she can tell her friend, she gets worse, and the stealing friend cries over her bed, confesses everything to her, and the hurt friend thus wakes up. they realize that it was not the stone's that brought them good fortune after all, but their love and affection being misinterpreted.

yeah, other students wrote about boyfriend drama and proms and such (well, except one girl, who wrote an exciting tale called "the grape escape," which involved several fruit items being emancipated from the fridge-life)... i wrote about depth of relationships and hospitals. go figure, guess not much changes ;)

anyway.

i have a friend who has a journal titled "between poetry and prose" ... needless to say, i adore the idea. i wish i could even be poetic or prosey enough to come up with such a thing. but, i'm going to cheaply take after it, saying that my blog shall be a mix of poetry, prose, and potpourri (yes, a mix of potpourri!).

starting a blog right now seems rather overwhelming, to be honest. and committing to speaking nicely or lengthily isn't really something i can imagine doing right now (okay, maybe not the length part). ...but, a potpourric collection of thoughts, ideas, lyrics, quotes, and moments seems like something i could handle. perhaps some will even have commentary.

so, thus begins my collection.

oh .. a word on the actual title: audible silence. i can't remember if that's something i heard somewhere or just pondered on my nearly-daily walk between offices, but it feels rather appropriate; this will be how my silence find its voice.