Altered fun

Something that is bringing me a lot of light this winter is a new 'found' project.  Let me share what I am up to....

I have two old journal/day planners of my mother's that she never really used. She was not a journaler, and I am not sure how she happened to have these two, very nice quality/Italian made, with sewn binding. Mom died a few years back, so it's not like I can ask her. Perhaps they were "new year's resolution" purchases, something she thought she'd have a go at? These books are from 1992 and 1993, soon after Dad had retired from the Navy and they had moved near the beach, in South Carolina.

It took a little courage on my part to open them up and read through these. I was not surprised yet still disappointed to find that there were very few entries, and everything was quite superficial - "haircut at 10 am." The biggest confidences seemed to involve food, "We went out to eat and I had scallops for dinner." Truly, there were very few references to any family members, except for noting phone calls, as in "I called Maureen this evening."

Later, when I was out running trails with my pal Marla, I lamented aloud - "How I wish I found some sort of affirming words about me in her writing. I'm half-thinking of writing a love note to myself in the empty pages." (This was one of those 'give yourself what you need' ideas that a therapist might recommend.) Marla, an artist, immediately suggested - "Oh my - you should make an altered book!"

"A what?" I asked, confused.

When I got home from the run, I went on a deep dive (thank you, Google and YouTube) to discover everything I could about altered books...and this has become my 'found' project. This visual art/craft approach appears for some to be a way to create almost an artist's portfolio, or to experiment with different art techniques. I am taking mine in a more personal direction, using Mom's book/writings (or lack of writing) as a muse, creating art collages and drawings, basically 'playing' with the book. 

Let me show you a collage I have just started - this is going to be a map of their home and surrounding area, showing all Mom's favorite places. I have created the 'toe' of the island that they lived on and the water all around, using papers cut from picture book jackets. 

(I should ask you teachers - do you recognize the illustrators?). 

(Okay, okay - I'll share! The 'land' is from Jerry Pinkney's The Lion and The Mouse and the "water" is from Michaela Goede's illustrations in Carole Lindstrom's We Are Water Protectors)  

As I said, I'm mid-process on this collage - I have yet to add roads, bike paths, and favorite places. More to come!!

I am awed by how this work is stimulating other writing, leading to poetry and some fanciful fiction draft ideas. Honestly, the exploration is meditative and hopeful. I am having so so so much fun.

Let me share a little poem I wrote, totally imagining Mom living in her new community, immersed in her local Catholic church and new friends. I thought about her and a friend taking a day to visit the local shopping outlets, from her entry "Tru and I to the outlets": 

the perfect day

how the waitress made us chuckle

shouting our names, saying hello

she knows us now, each morning

early Mass, coffee and biscuits

then we drove to the outlets

searching for the perfect shoes

finding so many bargains

that turquoise blouse looked so good on you

how fun it was to wander into

the little art boutique

so many beautiful pottery pieces

people are so creative

we sat on the bench outside for a bit

remember how cool the air was

how gentle the breeze

such a nice break from the heat

driving back, you shared that story

your trip to the mountains

all the antics that ensued

how we laughed and laughed

I had no sooner put my new things away

when he came through the door

we sat on the porch together

sharing our stories

I seriously don't know where I am 'going' with this project, but it is the perfect thing for me as another winter of isolation bears down.

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for creating this supportive community 

of teacher-writers!

Home Work

These past few months, we've been living in a rather sad version of If You Give a Mouse a Cookie, with one simple home improvement idea (hey, honey, let's get our wood floors refinished!) leading to - unearthing, really - a host of other issues. Isn't this always true of houses? Of teaching? Of any work? One sweet idea and the next thing you know, you are immersed in something tangential, then something else, and else again, on and on.

I've been surprised at how sad I am about the discovery that we have major repairs to make to the existing structure of our home. Yes, truly sad. Quite unexpectedly. 

Here's how I know: when the contractor shared impressive, clear, careful details of the work we must do, I burst into tears as soon as he left our house.

A good friend suggested that I am perhaps feeling a sense of grief, a sense of loss. The more I think about it, I think she is right.

We have an older home (1938). I like to say - "old enough to have problems, not old enough to be anything extraordinary." But, we have loved this home. It's been my home throughout our marriage (my husband bought it before we married) - some 33 years now. It's full of our fixes, our repairs, our "make do's." As one little example, let me share a photo of the kitchen "backsplash" that I painted 25 years ago, because we couldn't afford tile: 

I have been so content with this painted backsplash through the years! Ha! It makes me smile.

Our remodeling will begin any day now (we are waiting on blueprints...). I feel like a young child on the verge of a tantrum when I say: I really don't want to think about the innumerable details of this new work! 

But it is work that must be done. 

These structural repairs mean that a lot of the little, personal touches we labored on through the years will vanish. (Yes, the backsplash, too. I know - the time is past due. I hear you.)  This is why I am feeling such a sense of grief - it feels as if we're tossing aside memories, erasing our life.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I am making peace with the reality that the timeline will be long, inconsistent, unpredictable - as is true with most remodeling projects, but especially during this time of pandemic when every contractor is in hot demand and working on several things at once.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I remind myself, it's a good life, right? We are so blessed. Change is always, change is constant, change is needed.  

Of all the unforeseen and unfortunate problems in the world, this is a good problem to have. Quit my bellyaching!

Breathe in, breathe out.

Realizing I am feeling grief, I decided to work my way out of my blues. Action is needed! We "popcorned" ideas about things that need to be done around the house that are NOT this structural issue, that do not require a professional, that we can do ourselves. We came up with quite a list, big and small things. (Think - painting projects, culling belongings/extras, donating furniture and other items we no longer need.) Now, we are chipping away at these - and it feels WONDERFUL. Seriously. It helps to be accomplishing something.

This past week, we repainted four radiators (before the onset of cold weather). Here's a 'before and after':

BEFORE

AFTER - 

(Yes, there is a goof of paint on the tile above the right corner. 

Thank goodness for "Goof Off"!)

It also helps to write poetry - ha! Just yesterday, EthicalELA offered the inspiration to write an "Abecedarian" poem. I thought about our house and its overwhelming but necessary repairs, and an A-Z poem just flowed out of me. I love it when writing just tumbles forth, as if a release valve has been opened. Yes, it was truly a release. 

I guess the truth of it is, remodeling doesn't soothe my soul...I'd rather be writing.

Falling Apart Alphabetically

Absolutely excited to 

begin home improvements, the

contractor was summoned to

develop a plan of action.

Emotionally unprepared I was

for his first question,

Goodness, why is your ceiling sagging?

How is it that we never noticed?

I have asked this many times since.

Jarringly, it is all we see now.

Knowledge is sight, I suppose.

Lamentations aside, we have

mustered courage (though

nerves and tears still rule on many days) and we’re

opening ceilings

paying for blueprints

querying engineers contractors designers websites friends 

rapidly learning about beams and 

structures and foundations.

Things fall apart. Yes, indeed.

Unexpected challenges and loss, it is said, may also reap

very real opportunities, silver linings, transformation -

wisdom I should print on index cards or

xerox and post everywhere, reminding, as we

yearn for this work to be done, it simply

zigs and zags, ebbs and flows, starts and stalls.

___________________

It's Tuesday and I am participating in the

 Slice of Life.  

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

SOL21 Slice 31: Caffeinated musings

 

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

At the time, it seemed like a good idea to pilfer a few, several, and then a handful more, of my daughter-in-law's chocolate espresso beans; yes, it felt fanciful and decadent, a real indulgence, as the children were napping. She is always so welcoming of us partaking of any and all foods while babysitting; I no longer drink coffee, but continue to love the flavor, and a special exception this one time would not be so bad for the old blood pressure, right? Oh my, those espresso beans look very different when the bedside clock flashes !! 3:17 A.M. !! In the recesses of my head there is a chorus of little tiny hyper energized chocolate espresso bean voices jumping shrugging and cackling: how do you like me now? 

Do you hear them, too?

These wild, winding paths of thoughts . . . let me try to summarize this month of blogging. Woohoo! 31 days of blogging in March! Once again, I am amazed at how much I observe during this month of writing, how each day I am more present and attuned, gathering ideas for a post. 

Writing seems to take on a life of its own, as if fueled by espresso.

Of course, there are always so many extra things that never make it into the posts at all. 

What are some of those random thoughts that never went anywhere, yet still echo in my brain? Let me share them now, simply for the fun of it. Who knows, maybe one of these will be a kernel of some future writing . . .

• the growing list of all our phrases that just flow from her lips now, always catching us off-guard, a two year old mimic of all the adults in her life - "in my humble opinion," "keep the faith!" "cutey-batootie," "hit the road, jack," "keep your eyes peeled," "whoomp, there it is!," "well, that was unexpected." 

• the beautiful great blue heron that we see regularly down at the creek, how Tony and I were thrilled to see it in a lovely cove, up close and personal - we crept so softly towards it, so as not to disturb the heron sheltered by a tree, only to discover it was not the heron but simply a clever contortion of a plastic bag adorning a branch. Yes, plastics: the new nature.

• my daily angel cards, how one very busy day with so many things that I had to get done, I thought beforehand: what I really need to pick is the word "efficiency," and then I did, in fact, coincidentally, truly, choose the word "efficiency" and I thought - wow - I had the power to bring the future into the present, and this is how I used it? to choose a random card from a pile?

• she is always so tightly wound, and full of anxiety, the one who dominates our group conversations; listening to her detailed angry story this time, I was aware how much like an alarm her voice is, with every second syllable heavily accented - and THEN he SAID he WON'T, da Da, da Da, da DA. I am also aware that she has worn me down, the alarm is that of a distant car for which I am not responsible. How to keep friends with friends who don't fix their stuff? What do our very voices tell us about our emotional state?

• the reawakening experience of riding down a slide that was imperceptibly wet, with my two-year-old granddaughter on my lap - I had not anticipated the sensation of wet, and I felt so sopping cold "inside" my clothes, as the moisture instantaneously soaked through to my thighs, my underwear, my tush; not a sensation I have experienced in years and years, or ever hope to have again. I spent the morning with a wet and muddy tush, feeling so guilty about the many times I - as teacher - resisted taking a little tyke in from the playground, after they had slid down a wet slide, because I 'knew' it was no big deal. Oh my, I was wrong. 

Yes, those are some of the random places my writing brain has gone this month!

Thank you Two Writing Teachers!! Writing with the Two Writing Teachers community this March 2021 has been both a blessing and a delight! 

"don't write out of what I know; I write out of what I wonder."

- Lucille Clifton

SOL21 Slice 2: To what end?

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL21).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2021.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers, for nurturing teacher-writers!

I started another journaling notebook yesterday. I use simple five-subject, wire-bound, "college" notebooks for my daily, early morning writing; I have used these for years. I have been flying through notebooks this past year of pandemic and retirement. I have the time and the space. I write every day.

To what end? Why do I write?

During this year of pandemic, I have become more organized and focused about my writing - I actually carved out a space for it. I created a 'studio' space for myself in my basement, a warm and happy nook with many favorite treasures near at hand as muses. I like being in this space. Truth be told, I write in lots of other parts of my house, too. I just sort of flop into the coziest spot, often near a window, near light. Sometimes, if I have trouble writing, that's all I do - I move to a different spot in my house.

To what end? Why do I write?

I decided to gather all my writing notebooks and have them in one place, in my writing nook. My goodness, I have been so disorganized - these journals were in closets, my bedside table, everywhere. Yes, I found all my journals and put them in order by date. Looking at this collection of journals, I could see that my journaling practice began very slowly, with scattered, infrequent entries during the early years of raising children. Back in these early days, I used a variety of sizes of 'proper' journals - I would buy a new journal as a treat for myself, hoping to capture thoughts on a regular basis. It didn't really work - I wrote inconsistently, with many months between entries. These early years, I didn't really have a 'writing practice' but a 'writing sometimes.'

At some point, I transitioned to the common notebooks. Oddly, I started writing more. Somehow, it freed me, writing became release. With an ordinary notebook, I find, I can pick up and put down as I wish, when I wish. I can even tear out pages, which is a nice feature. Funny, when I was teaching, I would take one-two years to complete one of these five-subject spiral notebooks; now, during this pandemic, I am filling one every few months. This is what time offers to writing.

Again, to what end? Why do I write?

Yes, I found all my journals and it is quite a stack! I put them in my magic cabinet. Magic cabinet, you ask? Oh, see, it's a leftover from my preschool teaching days. Back in the day, for my first classroom, I painted an old cabinet (and decoupaged - that alone tells you how many years ago this was, ha!). I kept it right next to my teaching chair, at our whole group gathering space. Every morning, as I set up for the day, I 'hid' special extras within, to unveil at the perfect time - a special book or puppet, an activity . . . you know, magic!

I don't know why I held onto this old cabinet. I should have tossed it, when I cleared out my classroom. Even here at home, I have been culling things left and right, throughout the pandemic, and I just can't bring myself to toss the magic cabinet. Yet.

It is a little weird to have it here at home.

It was even weirder to have it empty! So, that's where the journals are now. One day, I'll get rid of it. One day, one day, one day . . . .

Journals and cabinets - I can't live with them, I can't get rid of them. What am I supposed to do with this stuff? Anyone re-approach their writing notebooks? What do you recommend?

Again, to what end? Why do I write?

I don't know. I'm still writing! Ha!! Maybe I'll figure out why when I'm done. Maybe I'll throw everything away!

"Thank God I found the GOOD in goodbye."

- Beyonce Knowles

Stainless Steel Sunrise

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

I've been writing more poetry in recent weeks...there's something about this pandemic that has made poetry writing very attractive, very soothing for me. 

Today, all I have is a poem...this one poured out after my morning walk...

Stainless Steel Sunrise

A stainless steel sunrise,

bright, and fixed in the sky,

foreshadowing,

a utilitarian day ahead.

All I want to do is curl up in the fetal position and

be alone in a dark room,

but the day beckons like required surgery.

I must get through it.

Let’s begin with a slow walk

beneath the weeping willow branches

stretching over the path,

feel their soft, surprising caress

across the neck and shoulders.

Notice how the wind picks up,

swoops my hair high,

shifting it from one side to another,

back and forth,

stretching me to let go.

Witness the Black-eyed Susan that has

pushed through the crack in the concrete,

fearless and not to be denied.

Smile at the small dog following his owner,

being coaxed along on his leash,

and know

I am not the only one

who finds today hard.

Apr26Poetry: Reasons Why

I'm trying something new, taking a risk this month - participating in
#VerseLove with Sarah Donovan,
hoping to write poetry every day this April.







Today's inspiration is a spoken word poem, creating a list or a countdown to create a clear argument. This poetry style is called "Reasons Why and Responses To," a way to share passion and expertise. What a challenge this was! Silver lining of rainy Sundays during a pandemic: extra time to play with words. Here's what I created:

Reasons Why I Walk Along the Creek in the Rain

7. It clears your head, better than bed, those daily steps, they give you pep.

6. You know you have the clothes, jacket, boots, nothing exposed, there's no bad weather, only bad clothes, this debate is all that slows.

5. You'll have the path to yourself, absolutely no doubt, silence in the rain, silence reigns, everything's so quiet, you hear so deep, branches crack, a frog leaps, wings flutter, water washes over rocks, it's so quiet you hear nature talk, there's something to be said about solitude, something that fills your soul and your mind, too.

4. It's like taking a trip in your mind, going to another place and time, you're in a cloud forest and you are lost, no - Isles of Shoals or some other sweet spot, maybe Gene Kelly's with you, singing away the blues, it's a big game of make-believe, same old same old like you've never seen.

3. Transported by your feet, a series of visuals without repeat, colors like no other, in the softer light, pinks seem pinker, flowers so bright, redbuds at peak, peeking at you, dogwoods want in on the show, too, it's a school without walls, surprises await, endless possibilities to see something great, the surprise of the heron, in the creek, standing and staring, and you, standing and staring, too, everything glistening in the rain, everything different, nothing the same.

2. Think about writing 'reasons why and responses to,' write in your head, as you're walking, muse, what is it they say, what do they advise, "Good Lord willin' and the creek don't rise?" - there's got to be a way you can answer this prompt, these puddles at your feet, making you stomp.

1. Because you can, understand, because you can.

And, you did.

SOL 20 Slice #31: The end?

I am participating in the

 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  

All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 

 every day for the month of March 2020.

Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

It seems appropriate to end this Slice of Life Story Challenge of 2020 with a focus on my favorite book: Roget's International Thesaurus, Third Edition (1962). This was a gift from my father, when I went away to college - though, to clarify, is it called a gift when you have borrowed it for so long, that it just gets caught up in your belongings and no one is really the wiser? 

Dad showed me how the thesaurus worked when I was about ten years old...and perhaps that's why I fell in love with this book: it needed directions! You didn't just pick it up and start reading; no, you went right to the back, found the word you were thinking about, looked for its unique numeric code, and then flipped back to the front part of the book until you found that number in the sequence. Why would you do this? To find a whole other world of additional words that were similar in meaning...to find synonyms! 

It still strikes me as such a fanciful and whimsical idea for a book: think of a word, follow a trail to other words that are nearly the same, and get ready to go on numerous other tangents, along the way. 

I loved everything about this tome. As a young girl, my favorite feature was the fore edge [FYI - I just now looked up this term] of the pages...these had hollowed semicircle indentations, to make it easier to turn to the section you needed. I had never seen these on any other book. They seemed elegant, special, stylish, refined, sophisticated, ingenious - ah, you get the idea.

My writing nook, with Roget's.

I liked that Roget's had a special place on Dad's desk, right next to the dictionary. I like that he signed his name in the front of the book, in black marker. I like to think about my father writing, that he was fascinated enough about words that he bought himself a thesaurus. Wow. I have no memories of him writing for anything other than work (he was a naval officer), though, I remember he did enjoy writing letters to family. I liked that he had this book to expand his word choice; I thought that conveyed a certain respect for writing itself - to seek help and information, to make your writing better.

Even though I can look up synonyms on Google, I still enjoy looking them up in my Roget's. There is something very grounding about this.

There's something very grounding about this Slice of Life Challenge every March, and, particularly, this March, 2020. We have held each other up, we have shared our stories, and we have documented our personal history of this pandemic. I am so appreciative of this writing community, and I thought I'd let Roget's explain. The Slice of Life Story Challenge provided me with:

community
oasis
connection
friendship
circle
people
exchange
reflection
travel
escape
inspiration
conversation
dialogue
sharing
provocation
insight
wisdom
wit
solace
caring
compassion
humor
concern
comfort
treasure
a very special place

Thank you, one and all, for your writing and your comments. You have made me a better writer! I hope we meet up again on Tuesdays, for weekly slicing.

My favorite page from Eric Carle's "Slowly, Slowly, Slowly" Said the Sloth; clearly Mr. Carle had a thesaurus!

SOL20 Slice #28: Influenced

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Waking gently, softly.

Lingering in bed.

Laying quietly.

Listening.

His breaths.

White noise of sound machine.

Rain trickling down the gutters.

No alarm.

No hustle.

Unhurried.

Just slowly emerging.

Holding onto the last vestiges of a dream.

Breath taking, breathtaking.

This is a gift,

these leisurely mornings, 

this soft start to each day.

This poem just appeared to me this morning, as I started another quiet day during this coronavirus pandemic.  In recent years, as I have weighed the pros and cons of continuing to teach, the most simple and yet strident complaint is my early morning wakeup. I have truly resented that alarm clock and its horrid ring at 5 a.m. I live in the suburbs and teach in the city; I use mass transit; all this means: I must get up early. It is the nature of the beast, as it were. 

A couple of weeks ago, back when things were normal, I sat down with my head of school and talked about possible future plans. What if I left full-time classroom teaching and moved into something part-time for the school? I shared some ideas and felt pretty excited by her receptiveness. I feel ready for a change. I would like more time for writing and more time with my husband, who has been retired for some four years now. I have both health and energy, and I love working with preschoolers, so I really don't want to say goodbye to all of it, just yet. We talked at length on a Thursday; the next day schools were closed due to coronavirus.

These slow mornings are  

intoxicating,

invigorating,

influential.

I cannot imagine returning to a daily morning alarm.

SOL20 Slice #27: Moments that Mattered

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Six word poems, describing new normal.

Busy day ends, almost forgot post!

Isolation is actually busy and demanding.

So much uncertainty about this virus.

Washing my hands all day long.

Son visits, stays six feet away.

We share together but no hugs.

Change clothes for walks, not work.

Pajamas not seen on video screen.

Spend hours creating video, looks amateur.

Virtual classroom requires so much thinking.

I miss leading with my heart.

So many new tools to learn. 

Tender video calls with my preschoolers.

Office hours too restrictive - call anytime!

Preschool FaceTime means views of ceilings.

Laughter, love, caring through tiny screen.

Preschooler says "love you!", hangs up.

Notice cilantro in teeth after video.

What day and time is this?

Weekends and workdays seem so alike.

Could be worse, could be worse.

I know that I am blessed.

Moments that mattered, in small bits.

SOL20 Slice #1: Lenten rose

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life Story Challenge (SOL20).  
All participants are sharing stories about moments in their lives, writing 
 every day for the month of March 2020.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

March always makes me think of my Mom, whose birthday is this month. After her death in October 2018, I decided to look for a perennial that bloomed in March, to plant in my garden in her honor. This past fall, I planted three lenten roses ("Helleborus"), thinking these would be ideal flowers to commemorate my devout Catholic mother. 

Lo and behold, they began to emerge from the ground in mid-February, and here at the beginning of March, there are a few blossoms! I am confident that these plants will be covered with blooms by mid-month, for Mom's birthday on the 18th. I have been checking on them every day, noticing their growth and smiling with delight; I have fallen in love with these little dear plants. They are one of the first signs of spring in my yard, flowering even before the yellow-blossomed forsythia.

Such a little thing, such a sweet thing - I figured this called for a poem.




Little Lenten Rose

Slowly, slowly, through ground,

Though it be cold and hard,

The little lenten rose,

Sweet magic in my yard.

Slowly, slowly, pushing up,

Stem and leaves appear,

Small buds are softly folded

Holding something dear.

Slowly, slowly, they unfold,

Blossoms opening wide,

Purple, red, with yellow core,

Speckled and bright inside.

Slowly, slowly, winter fades,

Springtime starts to shine.

The little lenten rose,

Harbinger of time.

Determined to write

I am participating in the
 Slice of Life.  
All participants are writing about one moment, one part of their day, 
on Tuesdays.
Thank you, Two Writing Teachers!

Whenever possible, I squeeze in a visit to see my Dad, who is 90 years old, and lives in a nursing home in Maine. I stay with my brother and sister-in-law, both retired, and I am filled with envy of their life together. Their home is tranquil, clean, beautiful, and simple, with lovely views of backyard woods. We sit and chat and relax. Last time I was there, gorgeous sunshine radiated through the windows and skylight, across my face and lap, as I curled up on their comfy sofa. I thought - give me DAYS like this, on my own, in a quiet, calm, cozy home, and I will write and write and write.

My daily reality is so different. Oh, my. This school year. Truly, I have never had such a tough start to a year...and here, a third of the way through the year, I have found a balance, but it is a fragile, walking-on-eggshell balance, where the slightest change in routine or plan or expectations, and, whoa, everything goes nutty again. There are too many children with many big needs, and a cast of adults that constantly changes. I no longer anticipate anything approximating calm, which makes those rare, surprise moments of quiet such a gift. I come home fatigued, worn, frazzled, with so many strands of thoughts - he said that, she did that, I need to do that, they want that, I have to remember that, we had that, what about that, why not that?! Voices of need ring in my ear...there is simply no end to the needs. I forget to take care of myself, eating the wrong things, moving too little, not taking time for me. I squeeze in writing that is superficial and tiny and brief...I do not have time or opportunity to write out the stories in my head.

I wonder...when the day finally comes that I have the time...when I have DAYS on my own, in a quiet, calm, cozy home...will I have any stories to write? Will I be able to grab the threads that I let go, during so many unending days? Will these still be stories I want to tell?