I keep writing in my head. I guess that’s inevitable; words make me tick. Projects and goals keep me disciplined and accountable. Without them, my time fills. This is reflected both in my quiet blog and in my growing backside. Not enough time in the gym, not enough time purging thoughts.
In the interest of fitting into my clothes I’m looking for a race goal to work for. In the interest of making room for new thoughts, I’m getting over the paralysis of “what to write” and freewriting. Now.
I did have the best Thanksgiving of my life last week. The Love declared me the “Thanksgiving Boss”; he was the Host. He honored me and blessed my efforts to freely decorate and cook any way I pleased. My family came as guests and contributed but didn’t dominate. His scrutinizing children were elsewhere. His estranged brother became less so and joined us; a friend going through a divorce came as well. My children and my sister’s little babies bonded and ran freely. It was divine.
The next day The Love and I shopped. My baby turned six. The day after that our team won and we hugged our friends and screamed ourselves hoarse. At the end of it all, I came home. That’s beautiful you know.
I’m working, I’m writing. I’ve got two large paintings in progress. I’ve decided to submit one freelance project a month, totally unrelated to work. And I am making two appointments with girlfriends a month, for coffee or lunch. I’ll find a work out to raise my ass and keep date night to raise a toast.
My little life is in the happiest niche right now and even blowing on it won’t scatter it away like dandelion seeds. I feel a permanence, a rooting taking place. Gravity. Contentment.
The other day my Love marveled at how calm I was through the holiday, through lots of changes he was afraid would cause me stress. I think maybe it’s harder to faze me now than once before. I think too that I’m resting in how trustworthy his protection is: he has proactively shielded me from what could do harm. This is a Big Thought that requires more time. It’s been an autumn of seeing him defend Us, protect us, provide for us.
I keep having a memory I have of being a very small girl, mid-way up a very large pine tree in the north Michigan woods. I am singing and looking through the needles at puffy white clouds and blue sky. I am very high. I would probably not do this now, afraid of Pine Snakes that climb and heights and of creepy crawlies camouflaged in the bark. But when I was young, I spent hours dreaming in that tree.
I dreamed of a little home and a little family. Of happy times and holidays. A place with no yelling or fighting. A place filled with art. I had to climb the tree to have the dream; it was a safe place where I could take it out of my mind and examine it, turn it over and over.
I won’t attribute too much meaning to a recurring memory. It’s a sweet little thought though, a calling from way back there and a little bit of a link as to why I’m happy here.
Today at lunch my meal was $8.88. Those infinite numbers again, that little sign post I mark rightness by. Most likely silly. You’ll have to pardon my smile.