There is something to be said for the falling silence of winter. It can quiet the thoughts that rage out of control in the seasons of activity. Yet, to the active mind that wishes to continue to rage its voice is swallowed up in bitter ice chilling cold. It angers the thrashing mind more than calming it.
I realize that when I started this blog I was under the activity of the former mind. I was trying to express ideas around an edge of a fishing hole. Of course, I feared that there would be a crack that would swallow me up and take me under, but I always circumnavigated the edge of ideas, memories and dreams. I was safe, or so I thought. Yet, when you open up a hole on a frozen lake things may try to creep up; the very things you hate to face like: a two headed mutated bass or a stinging catfish. Whatever it was that bobbed upwards, the fear was going down with it to the depths and never finding your way back to the hole, and freedom.
Life is like this, interesting and dangerous.
Life is: a deer rifle pointed at you by cocky Junior who has anger issues and who is both drunk and high.
Life is a series of strangers who wish to do you harm; strangers that you think are four but, are only two wearing wigs and trying to kidnap you.
Life is a pervert calling on the phone and saying inappropriate things you cannot understand because you are only 6. He tries to get your address but the saintly lawnmower is driven by an angel mother to drown out any other sound.
Life is a crazy person in a mask jumping out from the forest of sled hill to abduct the first child coming across the path. I was the second.
Life is not knowing you were close to death except the fear on your friends faces when they swear they weren't sure you were breathing.
Life is men with perverted intentions.
This could be all there is to write. The graphic and frightening demons of life but, what remains is hope and redemption. Life is grace. Everyday the sun shines is a day you are not pulled under with the enormous jealous darkness because, darkness cannot understand light. And from light the darkness must flee.
Life is this great and wondrous thing which I embrace. It is jumping off a 15 foot cliff at Tailor Falls into a red river and coming out alive again.
Tuesday, January 31, 2012
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Something that is happening in the present time is my appointment to the Englewood Library Board. I am looking forward to being a part of this Board, hoping it will give me a chance to be an active part of this community. My love of reading, which was early on in life, makes this opportunity the perfect fit for me. If I can play a small part in increasing the visibility of the Library in my community, and in turn spark a passion for reading, then I think it will be a worthy use of my time.
I am not sure what sparked my love for all things literary, but I can share with you my earliest memories. I remember waiting in bed for my Daddy to come and read to me. The story I remember the most was "Goldilocks and the Three Bears." The reason I liked this book over any other had to do with the fat that I could visualize her best. I, like Goldilocks, was blond and sleeping in a nice comfy bed. I remember knowing the book so well that I would read it back to my Daddy. It never mattered that I would hold the book upside down when it was my turn to read, because I had the story memorized.
My early introduction to the Fairy Tales of old resonates with my childhood on Lake Charlotte. Looking across the Bay from my family's home there was lake and forest just west of us. There were no homes to see in that distant part of the Bay. An active imagination could see the forest of fairytales through the trees. I could see Red Ridinghood meeting the Wolf in those very woods across from our home. It could be me, for all that it mattered, going to my Grandmother's house, when my Grandmother's house was so very near to that forest.
The lake in it's nature is reflective; it makes one reflective too of the possibility of anything one could dream. And the forest held the reality unseen. I lived in a childhood of possibility. I haven't forgotten that. I can go as far as my imagination is willing to take me. The trees with their words, and the lake with it's wordless song of waves and ripples against the shore. Together they are a symphony of tales to tell.
So, can a Library today be the childhood we've forgotten, or lost? Shall we let our children grow-up with a silent speaking imagination? I hope not! I dare not let it! If you haven't been lost to wonder I hope this will serve as a reminder to get a little lost now.
I am not sure what sparked my love for all things literary, but I can share with you my earliest memories. I remember waiting in bed for my Daddy to come and read to me. The story I remember the most was "Goldilocks and the Three Bears." The reason I liked this book over any other had to do with the fat that I could visualize her best. I, like Goldilocks, was blond and sleeping in a nice comfy bed. I remember knowing the book so well that I would read it back to my Daddy. It never mattered that I would hold the book upside down when it was my turn to read, because I had the story memorized.
My early introduction to the Fairy Tales of old resonates with my childhood on Lake Charlotte. Looking across the Bay from my family's home there was lake and forest just west of us. There were no homes to see in that distant part of the Bay. An active imagination could see the forest of fairytales through the trees. I could see Red Ridinghood meeting the Wolf in those very woods across from our home. It could be me, for all that it mattered, going to my Grandmother's house, when my Grandmother's house was so very near to that forest.
The lake in it's nature is reflective; it makes one reflective too of the possibility of anything one could dream. And the forest held the reality unseen. I lived in a childhood of possibility. I haven't forgotten that. I can go as far as my imagination is willing to take me. The trees with their words, and the lake with it's wordless song of waves and ripples against the shore. Together they are a symphony of tales to tell.
So, can a Library today be the childhood we've forgotten, or lost? Shall we let our children grow-up with a silent speaking imagination? I hope not! I dare not let it! If you haven't been lost to wonder I hope this will serve as a reminder to get a little lost now.
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Get some new material!
It is about time I start focusing on new material. I have been negligent of my blog because I have difficulty keeping everything I am doing in balance. Write a script, get started on the next one, work on my blog, fix-up the garden and the house, work on etsy, work as a part-time typist. It isn't that this is an overwhelming amount to do everyday, but I am easily distracted.
I would rather...nothing. I like doing all these things, but I need to get organized. Any ideas? Well that is what I am doing right now. For now this blog will be under construction untill I figure out the best plan to stay constant with everything.
Thank you for following along. More to come.
I would rather...nothing. I like doing all these things, but I need to get organized. Any ideas? Well that is what I am doing right now. For now this blog will be under construction untill I figure out the best plan to stay constant with everything.
Thank you for following along. More to come.
Monday, February 1, 2010
Thursday, January 28, 2010
The Silent, Silent Snow
Dead calm and quiet takes the breath. The chill tingles when I swallow the humid ice filled air at first. I warm it with my 98.6 degree temperature. I skate and cut the cold with my warm pink coat and long peach scarf that hangs to my knees.
I spend hours dancing on the ice with my skates, and all by myself. I know my mom is watching me from the kitchen window with a cigarette held up to her mouth. Her elbow is supported by her hand. I am sure she watches me with trepidation. She can't help but remember the time the ice broke away behind her as she and my uncle sped across the lake on a snowmobile.
I dance without my mom's fears. I dance like a rag doll with invisible strings attached that pull me across the midnight blue ice. I dance with a song in my head, or maybe I sing out and the air takes my song through headphones and only the silence hears.
The silent world holds the secrets. The silent world keeps them.
I spend hours dancing on the ice with my skates, and all by myself. I know my mom is watching me from the kitchen window with a cigarette held up to her mouth. Her elbow is supported by her hand. I am sure she watches me with trepidation. She can't help but remember the time the ice broke away behind her as she and my uncle sped across the lake on a snowmobile.
I dance without my mom's fears. I dance like a rag doll with invisible strings attached that pull me across the midnight blue ice. I dance with a song in my head, or maybe I sing out and the air takes my song through headphones and only the silence hears.
The silent world holds the secrets. The silent world keeps them.
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