"If you have other things in your life ~ family, friends, good productive day work ~ these can interact with your writing and the sum will be all the richer."
~David Brin~
One of my original Beautiful Living goals was to study and hone the craft of writing and today's beautiful living post is from earlier this week and reflects an attempt at that goal. This week beautiful living has literally been through the flow of kind words pouring forth my way from precious blog friends and their well wishes and prayers. Caring words, kind gestures, and simple phrases of "I'm thinking of you." do indeed make life beautiful. To visit more beautiful living posts see Melissa of The Inspired Room.
Well, yesterday I was lingering and today I am just languishing. That's right, I've just been pining away, lost my vigor and my health all in one fell swoop. Thank goodness both of these are only temporary conditions. Languishing can also mean to ache, to have a desire for something or someone who is not present. It can also mean to lose ones strength, become weak, or to live in miserable or disheartening conditions. Now I am not talking about my diagnosis from the doctor yesterday, although, I am sure having pneumonia could apply in this situation, which is what I have, but that is not what is causing me to languish.
I couldn't put my finger on the problem until this evening when I figured out what I had been pining after. I lost my vigor for writing these last couple of weeks and for the life of me I could not figure out why. It may sound weird but without words in my world I am miserable and disheartened, I lose steam and get a funny ache for the flow of words. Well, my visit to the doctor netted me with more than one diagnosis, I've been suffering from writers block!
I also figured out why, I have been cooped up in the house for over two weeks now with just small purposeful trips out and my writing life dried up when I ceased to have interaction with the outside world. Yes, a trip to the doctor was exactly what I needed. I once read somewhere that writers need to live to write, to experience the world around them and I believe this to be true. Being cooped up I had no life experience to spark the flow of words. Life seemed dull and without imagination or inspiration. I have had no adventures lately to inspire me. I have met no characters which set the typewriter keys of my mind clacking. Until today...
Since I wasn't feeling the greatest I decided to go incognito and hope my disguise would work. Rockin' a perfect 50's pony tail and white ball cap gave me that sporty look not to mention that it did wonders for a bad hair day. I tossed on a hoodie, jeans, and sneakers all ready to go and I just couldn't do it. My mother's voice rang in my head about "nevah evah" leavin' the house without looking your best, even if your dieing you don't have to look like you are and you nevah know who you might run into. Swishing the cap off with an exasperated sigh I trudged back to the bathroom to apply my makeup. I didn't want to someday have to face my mother at the pearly gates should something happen to me and explain why I left the house without doin' my face or get in trouble right there in front of St. Peter, being accused of sassin' when I tried to explain to her that Jesus looks on the heart and not the outer appearance. I figured the pony tail ball cap hoodie jeans sneakers thing would be enough to send her into conniption fits as it was. Have mercy mother's have a way of makin' you feel guilty plum into eternity!The trip to the doctors office was uneventful and standard issue of signing in and verifying information and then the customary hour or so wait. I took along the most recent issue of "Where Women Create" to pass the time pleasantly. I found a far away quite corner to settle into and opened my germ shield, I mean magazine, and buried my nose in the glorious scent of creativity on its glossy pages. I lifted it a little higher to try and block out the noise of the conversation across from me. Two older gentlemen sat discussing their slightly over middle aged spread. I really didn't want to listen but their words kept drifting over the edge of the pages I held in front of me.
They discussed all the reasons they had gained weight and then went on to share favorite dishes that their wives cooked for them and their favorite restaurants. They went on and on about the merits of certain diets, best activities to burn calories, and building muscle in place of fat. One of them was called back to see the doctor, but not before they made arrangements to meet for lunch at the all you can eat buffet around the corner. You gotta' smile at that.
I am trying to read about Victoria MacKenzie~Childs floating studio when the epitome of a genteel southern woman glides into the chair next to mine. Have mercy, I think my mother sent her as a reminder of how one should always look in public! Heaven forbid if you actually show up at the doctor looking sick! I hunkered down deeper in my pages hoping she did not choose to sit by me, such a stark contrast, because it sure made one of us look better.Ms. Belle got a phone call just as soon as she sat down and I was entranced by her sweet soft southern drawl. Her voice was positively musical. Once again I tried not to listen as she lowered her voice to a conspiratorial tone and let fly the words, "Bless his heart..." Now, in the south when you hear a statement begin with, "Bless his or her heart..." this is a sign that he/she is about to the subject of some choice gossip, an unkind comment, or under the scrutiny of a strong opinion pointing out a wrong doing on him/her. I think this is a polite way of askin' forgiveness by sayin' it like you are really concerned.
Well, the "he" in question here was about to drive some "her" crazy and Ms. Belle was of the opinion that he had, "...lost his ever lovin' mind!" The taste of her tidbit died on the tip of her tongue, bitter indeed as she was called back just at the moment she was about to reveal the juicy bite of news to the eager listener. Not me silly, the one on the other end of the phone, but I did wonder. And there cropped up my mother again, givin' me a lecture on ease droppin'. Can I help it if she sat right smack next to me and enchanted me with her smooth as molasses voice? Mama sent along reinforcements on this one as a scene from Bambi sprang into my head. Thumper makes a comment that Bambi can't walk very well and his mother admonishes him to remember what his father said to him that very morning, "If you can't say something nice...don't say nothing at all." You can't win against TWO mothers, point well taken!
Finally, the room begins to empty of patients as lunchtime nears and I think I will get a bit of quite to read in after all until Mr. Sniffles arrives. Oh yes, about twenty or so empty chairs in the room and he makes a bee line for the one just vacated by Ms. Belle. I have no objection until I become utterly annoyed by his sniffing pattern. OK, I admit when I am sick I am cranky and little things that I never notice seem to magnify and get on my nerves and rhythmic sniffing just about sent me over the moon and not in a good way. This is what I hear, "SNIFF, SNIFF!" *five second pause* "SNIFF, SNIFF!" *five second pause* "SNIFF, SNIFF!" I think you get the picture. I seriously want smile and offer him a tissue before I slap, I mean snap.My husband was thankful that I did not reach over and touch Mr. Sniffles's nose which is my signal for "KNOCK IT OFF!" It is what I do when Handy Hubby snores at night. A gentle tap on the tip of his nose is all it takes and he turns over and quits snoring. He says I don't even wake up anymore I just reach over and tap. Why is it that I get so irritable over a simple sound? Oh, have mercy, here she is again, Mother, using my formal name and remindin' me of the shameful incident at the breakfast table many moons ago when I slapped my little step sister for smakin' and slurpin' her already noisy Rice Crispies. I am reminded to mind my manners and keep my hands to myself. Is offerin' a tissue offensive to save ones sanity?
Well, before I could make up my mind it was my turn to partake in that awful walk of shame where they lead you down the long cold sterile hall, point to the dreaded scale, then LOUDLY announce just exactly where that double scoop of butter pecan ice cream in a waffle cone landed! Yep, anyone within shoutin' distance figured that out right along with ya! In case you are wonderin', I flicked mother off my shoulder for this one, I DID NOT need the extra weight of her guilt tipping that scale any further!
I was seated in a little cubby of room when the doctor popped in and did a double take. His glance went from name on chart to patient in chair to blank stare. A light bulb went off and he connected the two stammering, "I almost did not recognize you. You look, (insert polite pause here), well, not quite like yourself today." "I'm sick.", I offer as an explanation knowing full well that it is my disguise that renders me unrecognizable. See, what was mother carrying on about? It worked, no one would even suspect I was her daughter caught out in public in such shameful condition! Well, they might actually recognize me because we have a very strong resemblance. I am liable to bring shame on the family name by not being properly put together! Oh, so, this is really not about me but a reflection of her. I do seriously try not to shame the family name, but putting too much weight on outward appearance can be a heavy burden to bear so once again I flicked her off my shoulder and gave my attention to what was needful at the moment, my health and not my hat, hair, or hoodie!After a bit of friendly chit chat and the exam over it is determined that one of my lungs has some serious snap, crackle, and pop going on and the other is not far behind. I think they ingested some Rice Crispies for breakfast. Is this revenge for that long ago slap? I said I was sorry and I really was. My quick temper and impulsive actions to let petty irritants get the best of me have improved much with age, except when I am sick. Is this a gentle reminder that I need to be kind to myself and others, not getting so irritable about what I cannot control?
Lessons learned, a painful shot, and a baggie of medicine later I am headed home to languish until bedtime. As I slip beneath the covers and make my "nest" as Handy Hubby calls it, a magical thing happens. My day begins to form in descriptive words and pictures and the keys of the typewriter in my head set to clacking as sleep eludes me. I know I have a whole day of rest ahead of me in the morning an my muse is back and I must scurry from my bed and write. I glance up at the clock astonished, surely I have only been here mere minutes, not three hours lost in the delight of setting down observations of an extraordinary ordinary day!
There is so much that did not make it into this blog post and it matters not. Perhaps what is here is too much and it won't be read anyway, that is OK, this one is for me. It is a delightful celebration of my return of words, of my brain firing off rapid thoughts and feelings, of regaining vigor, the lifting of a block that bound me to a silenced pen. I learned a lot about myself today, some of it good and some of it not so good. Isn't that what a day of life is, living it, learning from it, growing, changing, and experiencing? Isn't it savoring every sight, sound, taste, touch, and feel?Sadly, I hear no advice from mama on these thoughts. Mama can't hear my muse and we march to the beat of different drums. She lives locked in her world of quite desperation where everything on the outside appears as normal and everything in on the inside is a mess. Maybe someday in some way she will learn that living is more that a set of standards or rules or confines of polite society. Maybe someday she will know that the good, the bad, and sometimes even the ugly serve to pretty up the appearance of life. It is often the muddy muddle of experiences that bring about the beauty of change and lift us from languishing. Were she to listen to a piece of my advice, I'd tell her to embrace every facet of each days experiences and gather them like precious jewels, treasure them, and let them enrich her life.
Blessings,
Miss Sandy
P.S. Thank you all for the sweetest of well wishes. I so appreciate your kind words and prayers. I really am going on break now, unless the typewriter keys start to clack, then I'll be back!
This is the tale of the little Shulammite maiden and my reason for desiring to attend the She Speaks Conference. In the Song of Songs, the maidens lover comes, leaping across the mountains, and invites his beloved to go higher with him: “Arise, my darling, my beautiful one, and come with me.” (Song of Songs 2:10 NIV) He does not get the answer he wants, she is content. She is camped out “in the clefts of the rock, in the hiding places of the mountainside” (Song of Songs 2:14 NIV). She had gone so far with the Lord then she hesitated, stopped, camped out feeling satisfied with where she is and she refuses to go higher with Him, afraid of what it might involve. After her refusal he goes to the higher places without her. She is lonely, sad, and desperately begins to look for him.
