November 17, 2014

Wide Awake

 When you are present, the world is truly alive. 

~Natalie Goldberg,
Writing Down The Bones

Sometimes life is raw and totally in your face.

The first few days of welcoming a tiny human into this world are one of those sacred times.

Life continues it's relentless march outside your windows and you are barely aware of it, sun up and sun down. Anything that isn't happening in your moment, isn't happening at all, as far as you're concerned.

This is what happened to me during the first two weeks of November. The day after I had my great idea and declared a month of disciplined writing practice. The very next morning I was on a plane.

I went to live every second completely alive, to be wide awake with my grandson as he was waking up to the world around him.

I had no idea.

Twenty minutes after Maverick James Panco took in his first breath, I held him in my arms. Life is forever changed. We are all forever changed. There is one more life on this earth with my blood flowing through his veins. The next generation is begun for us.

I'm working through the meaning of our new normal. Family. Blood. Ties that bind. All that.

And now, it's Monday November 17th. Maverick is two weeks old and I am finally able to begin to write again.

At the moment;

It's lunch time, the house smells of fresh baked chocolate cupcakes and we are eating leftover venison soup with homemade half wheat/ half white french bread rolls from dinner last night. All Lydia and Nate can think about is eating cupcakes. I tell them they have to eat their soup and bread first. They finish most of their soup and Nate comes to me and says, "I'm really, really, really stuffed," as he pokes his stomach with his finger to prove his point. I say, "OK you can be done." And He turns to Lydia and says, "Just say really, really, really, and you can be done!" This makes me smile. He thinks he has me figured out, and he's right. I continue to smile as he enjoys his chocolate cupcake with chocolate frosting all over his face and hands. I just love him. Yep, he definitely knows the secret, really, really, really.

I hope to write more soon.


November 01, 2014

Writing Practice

 Thanksgiving. As a Christian I am encouraged almost daily from the Bible to find something to be thankful for. Some days, I lift my eyes and immediately rest upon something, and breathe thanks. Other days, I need a push. I think thanking God should be like breathing. A continual state of mind, like prayer, like breathing.

For the month of November, in keeping with the season of thankfulness, I am going to give thanks, publicly, everyday. I want to be a happier, more content and joyful person. I think this might be the beginning.

I am working on becoming a better and more disciplined writer. The first step to that is realizing that if I do not write, I will not become a better writer. I will not grow and develop into the awesome communicator that I dream of being if I don’t practice. It is time to commit to my love affair with words.

I apologize in advance if your mailbox is suddenly flooded daily with mediocre posts from ‘Quench Our Thirst.’ But the only way to get better is to practice, and here is a little thing about me; I am an undisciplined dreamer. I have grand ideas, all the time. My husband has a special look for me when I say, “I have an idea!” –insert a wink here- I start lots of things but I don’t finish most of what I start.

This writing thing is different than most of my ideas though. Why? It is more than an idea. It is a calling. I am a writer. I was born a writer. I have always processed my life by writing about it. I understand life when I write about it. People, places, feelings, I write. I am a writer from birth.

I have a shelf full of filled journals. I’ve written a little blog. But, am I communicating? What am I communicating? Why do I feel a deep primal need to communicate? Who am I communicating with? What is the point here? I have written for myself from the day I learned how to hold a pencil, first pictures, then letters and then words pouring my heart onto the lined page. I am attempting to write for others now, and this requires a bit more skill. For the 30 days of November I am going to commit to writing 30 minutes a day for the blog, and posting it. Discipline. Accountability. Writing practice, exercise, hard work, blood, sweat, tears and all that stuff. I am committing to write a minimum of 500 words for 30 minutes everyday.

I have a plan. An idea! Hold me accountable, won’t you?

Thanksgiving. November 1, 2014

Today I am thankful for rain and the gust of wind slamming into the side of my house. I can’t see his fierce face, his strong arms or his muscular legs that just kicked my pot of dying red mums down the rain slick stairs of my front porch, nevertheless, he is here. All at once, I am frightened and excited by his deep breathy voice. As he speaks, the trees bend beneath the power of his voice and he blows their leaves in every direction. They each dance in their new found freedom. The bare trees and the leaves dressed in party clothes, dancing. They dance as he sings to them. I watch and smile as I whisper,

“Thank you, Wind, for your display of power today. You have reminded me that my strength comes from the same place as yours. We are each empowered by our Creator. In that, we are one. You remind me to breathe thankfulness to our Creator. In my thankfulness I will make those around me dance like the leaves. I will be the barren tree, dancing despite my circumstances, because thankfulness is a dance with our Creator.”

See you tomorrow!

August 26, 2014

Losing My Religion/This One Goes Out to The One I Love

There was a time when I was caught up in religion. A time that reading about Jesus in the Gospels made me feel uncomfortable. Looking back, I can see that it was Jesus I didn't like. Bizarre. I called myself a Christian and I think I was a Christian. I knew, accepted and thanked Jesus for dying in my place. I just didn't relate to him. When I read about him in the Gospel accountings, he rocked my world, and I did not like it, so I didn't read the gospels. My structure, my holiness, my piety, everything I was living for, he pretty much spoke against. I was holding tightly to my godliness, unwilling to loosen my grip. I was afraid of the world and did not understand the power of God.