Tuesday, June 30, 2009

Last Day of June

This is it, the last day in June. By the end of the day I’ll have made it through another year of Junes. It’s the best and the worst of months. It brings my Annual ‘Remember the Magic’ Writing Conference and it brings the anniversaries of the ‘passing over’ of three loved ones.
June brings the songs of the birds close to me while I sit in the early morning on my deck. It brings the joy of the squirrels and rabbits playing on the grass and the slight sway of the tall pines. It brings the strawberries for picking and the gardenias scenting the air with sweetness.

Last Day of June

This is it, the last day in June. By the end of the day I’ll have made it through another year of Junes. It’s the best and the worst of months. It brings my Annual ‘Remember the Magic’ Writing Conference and it brings the anniversaries of the ‘passing over’ of three loved ones.

June brings the songs of the birds close to me while I sit in the early morning on my deck. It brings the joy of the squirrels and rabbits playing on the grass and the slight sway of the tall pines. It brings the strawberries for picking and the gardenias scenting the air with sweetness.

Saturday, June 27, 2009

Tears

On my recent check-up visit to Duke Eye Center, I learned that we have different liquids in our eyes, tears and an eye wash (when we blink). As age creeps over us,(egads, she mentioned 40 years of age) the eye wash dries. That's where eye drops come in. They help keep the eye fluid. At least this is how I understand it.

Tears are something else. I learned not to cry at a young age. It was that 'growing up with all boys in the neighborhood' thing. "Only sissies cry." they taunted.

I was too young to realize that boys don't know any better than many men do. Crying is healthy. I'd held back tears for so many years that I think they just backed up and overflowed........like a sewer system. Once I started crying, about 15 years ago, I haven't stopped. When people see this they get embarrassed.

"No, no." I tell them. "It's okay. When the tears want to fall, I let them. It releases my emotions and feels good." Not to worry.

If you have a hard time trying to cry, to release those deeply buried disappointments and hurts, try this: play some songs that bring back those memories of painful experiences-the ones you worked so hard to forget. If it doesn't work the first time, try it again and again. Eventually you'll clean out all that moldy yuk festering inside ........ just like the guy does with the toilet plunger.

Friday, June 26, 2009

Reading as a Writer

It's true. Once I became a writer I began to read differently. Oh, I still read for enjoyment. I may get lost in a story but only until a passage is especially poetic. Then I sit up, take note maybe even place a 'sticky' under the paragraph so I can return to it for further pleasure. I'll re-read it aloud this time to my two girls (darling cats) letting the words roll around my tongue before I swallow them.

Or it may be just a word that stands out and I'm unable to just roll over it including its meaning in the sentence containing it. A word that demands I look it up in the dictionary, now. When the worth of the word is revealed I realise no other word could have been more suitable and I amaze over the cleverness of the author.

Reading Michael Ondaatje's Divisadero is like that. I have several stickies underscoring paragraphs that just reached out and made me pay attention. The man writes prose like a poet; creates scenes like an artist. It's a pleasure to read the words he strings together.

Thursday, June 25, 2009

Writers' Group

For those who are nearby, a Writer's Group is meeting at the Warren County Memorial Library on Front St. in Warrenton, NC on the first Tuesday of the month at 6:00 until 8:00. Come early or later but join us in writing practices whether you are writing fiction, memoir, poetry or some thing else. There's no cost. Bring paper, pen or laptop.

Wednesday, June 24, 2009

Farmer as Poet

Today on my way to somewhere else, I passed a freshly turned field being readied for planting. But near the roadway the farmer created a small island by plowing around an area of Queen Anne's Lace. The wildflowers swayed in the breeze as if they were celebrating the farmer's recognition of their beauty and the joy they extended to anyone who took a moment to look. Surely the farmer is a poet or an artist or perhaps just someone who sees beauty when it pops out of the ground.