Today -- I Write

I love to write.  You can't really tell that I enjoy the writing process by my five month hiatus from this blog.  As much as I delight in creating a story, I cringe at the painful process of exposing those same words for someone else to read, see, judge, correct, disapprove of my writing ability , etc.  What it really comes down to is the fact that I need to write.  I feel all bottled up inside when I haven't written down the stories that continue to float around in my head.  Sometimes my stories are of personal experience that speaks of a lesson to be shared and other times my stories are completely made up, celebrating a well exercised imagination.

The first books I remember getting lost in, were Trixie Belden mysteries.  To this day, I'd rather read a mystery than anything else.  There's something about trying on the personality and skills of someone else -- even a blond teenager with freckles and a best friend named Honey -- and playing the written game of cat and mouse.  I love it when I can figure out the mystery before the author tells me, but I love it even more when I can't!

Writing and reading is an honest relationship of delight -- complete with ups and downs, frustration and exaltation.  I want to remember the reader that I was as a young girl that immersed herself in the story.  Those motives are pure and uncomplicated.  I want to write for the same pure and uncomplicated reasons -- out of love for the craft and the enjoyment of the creation.  Fear be damned!

It's a new day and today -- I write.  We really need to do what we love or we are less than ourselves.

Wonders of the World - 5

The ability to create and to appreciate art is the fifth of My Wonders of the World. In a previous post I shared with you that my word of inspiration for 2013 is Create, and the wonder of creativity is an important aspect of being human. 

My day isn't complete without some sort of creative expression, whether that's needlepointing the canvas that will become a pillow on my sofa, cooking a great dinner to be placed on a pleasingly decorated table or maybe I just decide to dress myself with a little more pizazz than usual.  It feels so good to create.  It is amazing what we have the ability to create.

When I walk into a museum, I turn into a human sponge.  I don't try to become a sponge, it just happens.  The evidence of human creativity causes a need to soak it all in.  On my most recent visit to the Detroit Institute of Arts, I felt like I had been a nomad wondering in the desert, dying for a drink of water.  My thirst to look upon examples of art was so great, that I drank it in with a sense of desperation.  As my thirst became quenched, I wanted to shed a tender tear at my state of satisfaction.

There are plenty of artists that I don't particularly enjoy and styles that I just don't resonate with. I visited the  Andy Warhol  museum, near Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania, even though I wasn't a fan.  I didn't want to miss out on an adventure.  There was a long narrow piece that I was drawn to -- it was metallic with Rorschach like designs all over it.  I studied it and pondered it.  When I finally read the adjoining description, I found out the variations in color were a result of the combinations of the metallic palate and his own urine as he dispensed it as was desired.  What a hoot.  What a wonder. I love art.

When one is in the midst of graduate school, one does not have much discretionary income. Even in that financial state, when I saw one of Paul Sawyier's works while walking through the mall in Lexington, Kentucky -- I fell in love.  I had to have it. I had to scrimp and save and do without a few necessities to get that limited edition, numbered print.  It was worth it! Sawyier was considered a great grandson to the great Impressionists.  I was moved by his subjects, his colors, the subtle nuances of his characters.  For over 25 years it has hung in a place of honor in every home I have lived in. It still moves me and now, it is just part of me. Art is like that.

Wrapped in Love Again and Again and Again

It has seen us through 9 homes, more pets than I can confidently count, hundreds of hours of snuggling, movie watching, sick days and afternoon naps.  The quilt made by Grandma Dot lasted 16 years longer than the marriage it was gifted for! It was a mainstay, a constant source of comfort for the growing up years of my two children, now 17 and 19.  Of all the afghans, quilts and blankets in the house, this was the one most sought after, for it brought with it the greatest comfort of both body and soul.

Grandma Dot came into my life while attending graduate school.  As part of a summer internship, I was given the opportunity to live with her for the season. She was recently widowed and for a variety of reasons, we both needed some looking after.  She made my meals and even did my laundry. I drove her to and from a handful of places and stood with her when she went to the cemetery. Dot, in her late 80's had the heart of one who is ageless, even besting me in a pillow fight.

This quilt she made of left over fabrics from around her home.  She didn't go out and purchase a new pallet of fabric as we often do today.  Making do with what she had, she created a treasure for me and mine.  Though my children never had the joy of meeting this precious woman, they always knew her by name and her ongoing gift.

It was a sad day when I realized the quilt now in tatters, way far beyond repair. Bits of stuffing hung out in an unflattering sort of way. Tears where there should be solid fabric gave way and just made an ugly mess.  One could no long wrap in the quilt, but only get tangled in its uneven shreds.

On a day when neither of my offspring could protest, I took scissors in hand and began to cut away the useless and salvage a piece here and there.   There was enough to place in a frame of remembrance and honor.  That will go on the wall, with a photograph of the one who was "Grandma Dot" to all who knew her. The rest of the pieces will go into several other quilts and Christmas tree ornaments -- keepsakes.  From one keepsake comes many more. She would be thrilled to know that her gift of love and handiwork is being recreated and will go one to be treasure for generations more.

Love is like that.  Once a gift is given, it's hard to stop it.  Once love is given, it can't be stopped.  That love might take some odd twists and turns and a circuitous route to land at home -- but it always keeps giving and loving.

What a Tangled Web we Weave or Knit

I thought I'd whip out an adorable scarf before dinner time. The skein of new yarn boasted an easy pattern with a thick chennile type feel with faux fur puff balls sprinkled around.  I'd paid only $7 and it seemed like a Christmas gift waiting to be hand-made.  The directions guided me to roll the yarn in a ball prior to stitching.  Always a bit impatient to get started, I was tempted to skip the advice.  But with only 60 yards of delightfulness, it would be a quick job.

It took me about a yard a minute to get my tangled mass of yarn into a usable ball.  I was tempted to return it to the store, but didn't.  I was tempted to rip and begin again, but I stayed true and steady to the job at hand. This was a special Christmas gift being made by loving hands -- right? I just wanted to knit and see how it would look as it began to take shape.  I just wanted to see that I'd accomplished something today that was obvious and visible!

Finally, I began to see that I was making headway. My slow and steady approach was begining to make a difference.  A rhythm of sorts was created as my hands found ways through the maze. Gentleness won over frustration as the integrity of the yarn wasn't harmed by the detangling. I actually began to enjoy the process. 

The last foot of yarn was wrapped and a ball ripe with potential lay on my lap. I hadn't even started to knit and already, I felt like I'd made progress. 

My husband came home and asked about dinner.  He didn't know about my heroic yarn effort yet, because if he did, he certainly wouldn't have had the audacity to inquire about something that paled in significance to my yarn challenge.

So much of life is the journey.  We want to hurry up and get to the thing that we want to enjoy. When we are a child, we want to get to Christmas or our birthday. When we are a teen -- the driver's license is the mighty goal. When I have a good job, when my career takes off, when I  have a baby, when that baby is potty trained, when I finally lose weight, when . . . . THEN I will begin to enjoy. The destination isn't the thing, the journey is the thing.

I wonder how much of life is taken up by the arrival at the destination -- I bet it is such a small percentage of our lives that it would discourage us to know how few of our life moments are considered those "I have arrived" and "All is well with the world" moments.

 I am quite sure that the journey -- the life in progress moments, where we are untangling life and preparing ourselves take up most of our life.  It makes sense that we strive to enjoy those run on moments that both delight and frustrate, challenge and renew us. It is the every day stuff that makes up most of life.