I love the sky late in the day. Here, I caught the sun lighting up the trees on the river bridge behind the studio. Often the clouds melt into pink cotton candy. And then there’s the teal blue water reflecting off the setting sun at Turks and Caicos.
It’s my favorite time of the day, especially when I’m alone or deep in thought. Annie Dillard says, “Spend the afternoon. You can’t take it with you.”
It’s the end of the year, and I get introspective around this time.
I also get sad, but that’s another story.
When I was younger, I refused to get sad. I was a Pollyanna girl, sure that everything would turn out all right in the end. “I’m fine,” is our family mantra, and I lived that way a long, long time.
But I’ve been in a lost period for the last few years, trying to figure out who I am and what I want to be when I grow up. In the process, I’ve changed from Pollyanna to Eeyore. I’ve been whiny, critical, and gloomy, sure the next plane will crash or my business will fail.
Sometimes we’ll never figure out what sends us spiraling. But now, five years later, I’m grateful to be seeing the light. I love working on my presses, sharing time with my young students, and helping to run Water Street Studio. The other day, one of my students stopped by with a gift (pictured above). I was touched he thought to create a framed set of type, including the word “write” and my initials. Seriously, touched.
These days, I’ve learned how little I really can control in my life. But giving in to that helps me appreciate everything else so much more. Now I say, “What’s the worst that can happen?” And the answer is usually something I can live with.
I don’t know if I’ll ever be a Pollyanna again. Wedged where I am feels like a good fit-a little vulnerable, a little realistic, and a lot hopeful.
All righty, then. I have some wood type waiting for me, and my hands are too clean. Back to work.
I spent a lovely week in Turks & Caicos, reading, writing, and sleeping.
My poem “Abandoned” has been accepted by Vine Leaves Literary Journal Issue 10. The journal is one of my favorites, and I am thrilled to be included.
We may have had our last snow for the season.
Switching to an “anti-inflammatory” diet hasn’t killed me yet, though I do miss sugar.
I’m testing a Morgan Line-O-Scribe press this week and hope to bring it home. Expect letterpressed cards from me soon.
#lucky #grateful
When I picked my word of the year, I had no idea I might be “couched” by snow days and freezing weather. We’ve had our share of cold this winter. Between that and clunking my head on a run last week, I’ve spent much time alone lately.
But all this fits right into my plan. Solitude gives me time to think and work. The warm fire doesn’t hurt either.
I miss Beau, my golden retriever, who used to sit by my side. Nero, our cat, does his best. But, well, you know cats.
They tend to have minds of their own.
I don’t often write about personal things here, but I thought I’d share something that happened to my mom recently.
Last week, on a train trip to visit me, she collapsed unexpectedly. She didn’t feel ill, and she had already walked up and down the train a couple of times for exercise on the 8 hour trip. However, near the end of her trip, she said her legs gave out.
The conductor helped carry her off, my husband and I called 911, and we went straight to the ER. Many tests and several days later, we were told mom had suffered from “broken heart syndrome.” When the doctor who performed the catheterization told me, I felt a flush of emotion, my eyes watered, and my own heart hurt.
We know she has a broken heart. My dad died three years ago, and mom has grieved silently ever since.
Though she felt no pain, mom must have found the travel stressful. She’s been home resting and will stay on heart meds the rest of her life. We’re happy her situation was not more serious.
Many people find it difficult to write or speak about painful feelings, my mom included. My sister and I laugh because her favorite saying is, “I’m fine !” Strong, definitive emphasis on “fine.”
But let’s be honest. I have trouble articulating my feelings, too. So I write to make sense of the world, my world. Flushing out emotions clears the view.
Lately, I’ve been trying to refocus, change the shape of the words that spill out. But I guess I’ll let them continue to come as they may.
Perhaps it’s even healthy.
