Just for today, I want to be alone. Just one time. You are at school, Liza at Aubrey’s and Grandpa at work. Georgia and I just sat through a Webinar from “Mind in the Making”. Now informed, I’ll rest with it. Let the information float around and land where it might do some good. Letting things float around and do good takes attention. It requires more attention than I seem have anymore. A few years back, I learned to stay with things, ponder and ruminate; to honor my process. I became creative, well, I guess I always was, but I let myself notice and stay with it awhile. And now I hop, pop and at times, leap from one thing to another along with you, your sister and our lives in constant motion. Like a toddler who moves toward a dolly and on the way sees a caterpillar, stops and picks up a rock, then sits with a leaf that just landed. Motion. Original goal lost to the moment. But oh that leaf was so tasty. As are the sweet times I discover with you. Yummy time.
Today I am missing writing, the time in my head weaving together words and ideas making meaning of feelings and thoughts. Locating foggy places, seeking obscurity and creating belly pains to sift through the world from a grandma point of view. And this view, that I was just beginning to comprehend, is different now. Different. Friends and family have gotten ill, some have passed on, I have new people to talk to, new things to think about and I have your grandpa, whose changing, too. My mom and sister are more a part of my life than ever before and you and Liza are too, and then there’s your peopled little lives. You have transformed all of us. We can never get back to before.
And the writing; I can’t pick it up and continue. I’d have to pick it up and start over. I imagine doing it. I lie awake at 3 am, sometimes 1:30 am and think about it. I’ll hold scissors and cut at it. Take away, save some parts and re-type them into my new computer, the one recording this part of my life. I’ll capture the good stuff. This time I will know the chaff. I will be able to see it. Maybe I’ll tell it from a different point of view. I’d have to. I don’t have that other point of view anymore. I think of it as having been torn off its foundation and stacked for another purpose. Like our old house. That old preoccupied self. That process piece full of discoveries; a story before your time. Before this time. History. Yet just as rich as any, it deserves my full attention. And I am beginning to consider what that might look like. Giving anything that much air time. What do you think, buddy? Can we all spare that much of me? Hmmm. gma