Sunday, May 24, 2009
I have always loved to write....I'm a sucker for a clean piece of paper and pencil, pen or anything that will leave a mark! I have several only partially-filled notebooks and journals throughout the house.
So....the other day my husband finds a newly packaged leather-bound journal in my little basket that I keep all of my "piddle" things in. He holds it up and says, "What's this for?" I sheepishly make something up, like, "Oh, I saw it and thought it would make a great gift for somebody next time I need to give one." He and I both know I'm not being truthful. We both know that there will be a day when he won't be able to root me out of my reverie, as I sit and write -- on the couch, in the living room, outside while at the patio table. Then, after the notebook is filled (or maybe before), I will be distracted by a fit of knitting or cross-stitching, or maybe be on a kick to get after organizing photos or something else. This is the way life is with me!
The thing is, as I sit and think today, I can't think of what to write about! Do I write about the things that make me crazy? PMS? All of my continuous efforts at trying to lose the same 40 to 50 pounds that somehow keep finding the way back to my hips, thighs and....other places? Should I write about how wonderful it is to have my college daughter back home again, junk and all -- how she makes me laugh and feel a gladness in my heart that I have GREATLY missed? Should I write about the heart-aching frustrations of trying to get my oldest son to communicate better with my husband (his father) and vice versa -- and my concern about his growing up and taking responsibility for the things of life that I know are just around the corner?
How about my dad's family? My parents and siblings have all expressed the desire to see me bring the stories of my father's growing up in a small town in Mississippi to life on paper. He is the oldest of what used to be nine children -- now seven, living. Sometimes I think I should spend some time interviewing each of them and hearing how they felt during all of those years -- some lean and some filled with plenty. And then there's my 92-year-old darling grandmother who is one of the sweetest women of my life. She is the one who loved on me as a child when I didn't feel lovable.....when I felt like "the fat one." She is the one who made me believe I was worth loving -- more than anyone else on the planet! Perhaps I should write about her!
The thing is, writing is something I love to do, and I realize more and more that it is definitely something I should make time for. It fills me with a sense of worth -- much like my grandmother's love always has and still does! It gives me indescribable relief to pen words that describe my struggles, my loves, my hurts.
So I guess even if I don't know what to write about, I should just DO IT. That's the plan. That's the thing I've been needing to decide. Of course, in a week or so, I might pick up the knitting basket again.....but the notebook will always be there in my "piddle" basket...with plenty of empty pages waiting to be filled.