The Indian On The Rock

Apologies in advance.  This post is introspective and even a little self serving.  However, isn't that one of the purposes in doing a blog?  It's going to deal with that little creative "tickle" that resides in all of us.  It is especially prevalent in anyone who has had experience in the creative arts.  Bear with me and let me try to explain this phenomenon.
My high school years were not the high point of my life.  There were moments in which I began to realize that perhaps the path I was following was not quite in step with my classmates.  I enjoyed the years, but there was always that thought that there was something more.  I managed to channel myself through activities with the band, writing and dreaming.  I was certainly never a part of the "in" crowd by virtue of the fact that I was an athletic klutz, played the tuba and was not born to small town royalty.  I became interested in theatre and soon I realized that I would never be cast because of these facts.  I lost a role in a one act play because I wore glasses!  The role went to one of the football players, of course.  Sour grapes?  Not really, but it chapped my butt!  I used my books, went to the movies, listened to music and finished a rather unimpressive high school career.  I will say that I was in the Senior play.  I played the butler…in blackface!  Oh, well…..
When I arrived at college my world exploded!  I found many others who shared my tastes and I relished being in a creative camaraderie.  Band was wonderful and soon I gravitated over to the theatre department.  My drama parents, Bill and Margaret Moore, taught and guided me and I evolved.  I was a late creative bloomer, but there it was!  I even met Diane in the theatre department and we played husband and wife in the chorus of The Music Man. 
After graduation I taught theatre to a group of uber talented students in White Deer, Texas, and even coached them to a State champion win in one act play.  My creative juices were running out my ears!  Even when I went into the Army I worked with little theatre groups on the posts and bases.  We went to Bangkok where I was the Special Services officer and we worked with a tremendous theatre group in an American university.  Diane and I co-directed a royal command performance of The Fantasticks and a wonderful production of Lion in Winter.
After my years in the Army we returned to El Paso and I taught theatre at two wonderful high schools and had a great time.  Creative tickle still being served.  I eventually went into counseling and scratched the itch through creative work through our church.  We did shows, sang wonderful pieces and enjoyed the whole process.
The girls grew up and entered in the world of the Arts.  Both of them were tremendous singers and were great on stage.  We were delighted and I channeled my "tickle" through them.  Life was good!
Then….
The girls moved on.
Diane died.
I have been thinking of moments.  Moments when all things magical come together and you get that creative jolt.  Here are some of them.
Becoming a hell of good tuba player and being All-Reagion and alternate All-State for 4 years.
Have my Freshman college English professor write on an essay, "You have creative sensibilities."
Dancing in Guys and Doll.
Seeing Diane for the first time while realizing that she was the one.
Having the cast stand in the wings watching Bob Finnicum, Lanelle Blanton and I doing the "Rain in Spain" number in My Fair Lady.
Playing Mitch in Streetcar Named Desire at Maguire AFB.
Auditioning a 15 year old named Ginger in Bangkok who sang the heck out of Luisa.
There were other moments, but this one was the best.  The first summer Diane and I were married we lived in Canyon for the summer semester and we both participated in a production called "Thundering Sounds of the West."  It was the precursor to "TEXAS" which is done out in Palo Duro Canyon.  We played many roles.  One of my roles was a pantomime performed standing on a large rock out from the rear of the stage.  I was an Indian medicine man, whipping up the natives for what was the last warpath in that area.  The narration indicated that as he spoke bullets spewed from his mouth, arrows appeared in his hands and as he threw his hands in the air the thunder rolled!  There was a bad cloud approaching during that performance and when I threw my hands in the air….the thunder rolled! Now, THAT'S a creative moment.
I am going to be 74 this month and I have entered my J. Alfred Prufrock years.  I worry about eating a peach and wearing my trousers rolled.  I just watched a wonderful video production of Cats and as I watched the incredibly talented young things throwing the bodies around the stage, hearing that glorious Weber music and hearing those full throated voices I began to cry.  Where had it all gone?  I wanted to do that.  I can't even make it up a rock strewn path at Hueco tanks or make it through Disney World with having to stop and huff and puff.
Please allow me this moment of introspection and wallow a little bit in some self pity.  I promise you that it will pass.  I just want to count for something.  I just want to be allowed to share a little of this creativity that wells up in me.  I need some applause.  I need the center spot occasionally.
I just want to be the Indian on the rock again.