I chuckle as I write this, for I have received a “TAP!” on the shoulder from a dear sweet friend, Karen Deborah over at Fresh Fixin’s, who has reminded me that proper manners in friendship do not allow one to simple vanish without notice. That goes for proper blog etiquette as well, I see. She writes:
Where are you?- and what is going on? You can't just disappear and not say anything for weeks and weeks. Well, you can and you have. But your absence is getting conspicuous. When your playing and having fun you still have time for a "Hi- I am busy playing"! Geez girl, I am accustomed to a wee bit more connection than this. I no good at cold turkey.
How was Disney world? Did You like Mathew with a mustache? I bet he looked cute in it.
Just write me a line if your busy and say, "I am OK--or I am not OK -please pray," You know something of that sort. A missive is not necessary on my end just a simple southern HOWDY.
You can't get away this easy! You are loved and missed and I have had ENUF OF THIS! I miss my friend!!!!!!!!!
Well, let me tell you I laughed out loud when I read this and then tears gently gathered in my eyes. She’s not the first to wonder where I have been and if they should pray me out of something difficult. Wow! This bloggy world has heartstrings zigging and zagging all over the globe . . . and it feels so good to have stumbled into this magical community over the ridge, down in the valley, and behind the waterfall. It’s pure magic, in the best of senses. Thanks to all of you that “clapped” loudly so that this fairy does not fade from “site.”
I must confess that I did not intend to fade away, but after the trip to Hawaii and during the prepping for Disneyworld, I suffered a serious relapse from an elbow injury incurred during the “Pantry Building” days of last spring. A touch of tendinitis flared up into a truly stubborn beast of pain. Blogging, internet searching for books and news and information, along with letter writing via email literally blew my elbow out and affected the entire right arm from shoulder to fingertips. Feeling stupid that I had over-dosed on the internet, I kept it mum and figured the Disney vacation would work wonders. I returned home with an improved arm, but the pain in the elbow persisted and my certified massage therapist daughter informed me of the dangers embedded in this little cry from my body. And so I faced an extended period of no gardening, no washing dishes, no vacuuming, no lifting of anything, no reading (WHAT!!!! Even holding books brought on lightening bolts of pain), and positively NO computer time!!!
I pouted . . . I fumed . . . I prayed . . . I cheated (and paid for it dearly). Eventually, I resigned myself to a period of healing wrapped in a quiet space. I felt useless and old in the beginning, but when I let go and floated with the inevitable inactivity I found something wonderful, beautiful, and YES, even enjoyable about sitting with music (or pure silence) in those moments when all others had found quiet nooks in which to feed the need to read (they lovingly spared me the additional pain of watching them devour books in my presence). Eventually I found myself able to hold a book for a few moments, wherein I chose the meatiest books at hand and took a hefty bite in a few controlled moments and then made it last like a lozenge of sweet candy, savoring the memory and recalling it in pleasure. A dabbling of journal writing kept me from going truly insane – I must write and EVERYONE around here knows it! Most of all, I savored the chatting times around the fire with my family. We pause often for tea and chats throughout the day. These chats came in second only to prayer in preserving my joy (and sanity).
This year my children decorated and cooked for Thanksgiving (I helped, of course, where hands were not needed). Great smiles of joy and gleeful giggles greeted the goodies spilling plentifully from the kitchen as I sat and fielded questions, filling the working moments with stories of Thanksgivings gone by. Next the girls exchanged the pilgrims for tinsel and baubles and Nativity Creche as we prepared our cottage for the Christ Child’s Birthday. Once again, I supplied the stories as the ornaments emerged to adorn our memory tree. We play this out every year, but somehow my limitations this time around made my stories more important to me . . . and to them.
“Please write this all down and save us the trouble of having to remember it all!” pleaded Elizabeth.
“Yes!” agreed Rachel.
Lydia, my poet child, simply smiled and nodded with the knowing twinkle of a storyteller in her eye.
And so I have promised to become The Story Girl and gift my children with the adventures and achievements, as well as foibles and fables of their rooted relatives along with the uprooted, unhinged, and otherwise unconnected save a chance encounter. I have chosen a binder to hold the stories which I will write out when the inspiration and occasion presents itself. Although a book may well come out of all this heartfelt overflow, for now it will merely be a storied lot safely stowed for all to share. My limitations at the computer will not allow me to pour out new things of a purely bloggy nature, but as I replied to Karen Deborah:
I haven't really fallen off the face of the earth . . . more like I have floated away for a time. And what a time it has been. God sends messages and when we fail to listen He captures our attention. Right? Lately I have been listening intently as I nurse tendinitis in my right elbow (from an injury back in the pantry-construction days) and seeking new direction for my blog (amongst other things). I will be back soon with an update and a shifting of the sails to go forth in a new direction. My kids are begging me to begin The Book so that they do not lose the stories that I tell so frequently about family members hanging off the family tree or delightful episodes filling the annals of family days, and even on into the tearful times that we cannot forget. Last year I set out to write a work of fiction long simmering in my heart, but life eclipsed it and I failed to complete the task. This year the novel will step aside and the family adventures that fill my memory bank and journals will step center stage for my children's sake. I thought I would toss a few onto the blog and see if my readers wanted to join the adventure. If so, Wisteria and Roses will fill with gifts from a storyteller. If nobody reads . . . my bloggy thing will slip into hibernation.
So there, my friends, I place the option before you. Would you like to read along? Do stories of immigrants and pioneers (because that defines both sides of the family) living, loving, laughing, crying, and even dying interest you? Are you curious to know what silly, sweet, or solemn story accompanies an ornament, tradition, or particular recipe that takes its special place in the history this storyteller has sprung from?
You decide . . .
I won’t be writing and publishing like a magazine, but rather my posts will pop up unexpectedly like a letter in the old-fashioned box. If you’d like to be on an email list to receive a copy directly please let me know, my techo-savvy husband promises to aid me in that service. I plan to stay right here on Blogger so any blog readers currently in use will let you know when I’ve popped in for storytime.
Oh, this really excites me now that I have written it all down for you to read. (Somehow the words become more alive to me when they take on the inscribed dimension.) I have stories galore that my children have enjoyed throughout the growing years, plus answers to lots of questions like what books would you take to a deserted island? When did you first keep a journal? Why haven’t you published a book? And so many more precious thoughts and moments that my children want preserved in a culture where families disintegrate and traditions dissolve without acknowledgement. I have promised to salvage what I remember.
Now comes the part wherein I dispel any notion that this is purely objective history. BEWARE! This exercise will be chock full of inaccuracies, stretched imaginations, misremembered facts, and all other manner of oopsies from a legal standpoint, but it will reflect my reflections, observations, memories, and conclusions stored away in my heart. (Just in case any distant relative wishes to latch onto something here for defense or more likely heated discussion – you’ve been warned. This remains a personal blog and thus filled to the brim with honest-to-goodness viewpoint. ‘nuf said.)
Okay, my elbow signals that this little chat session has come to an end. Gary has gone away on a day-long business trip and has made me promise to be GOOD and practice restraint. I intend to comply. So for now I bid you well and hope you will let me know via comment or email whether you’d like to sport a little pixie dust and fly away with me in a new direction. (I only ask so that I don’t spend time/effort uploading to blogger if nobody cares to read along.)
Until next time . . .