March forth on March first!
I had to stop writing because I couldn’t. So for over a year I read and read: Lots of books and lots of genres. One day last year I went to my husband’s studio and, with all kinds of drama, I rambled: “Tell me you will love me even if I never write another word. Will you love me if I”m not a poet?” And he said what any spouse should say, “Of course. But I’d miss it”.
I took myself off the hook, down from the cross, out of the fire and delved deep into words by others. Images of others and by others. I looked on the cast side of Rodin’s busts in Fort Worth. I felted. I crocheted. I revived old furniture. I held children for whom the world was too much for a scraped knee or a tumble off a bike. I rode carousels and climbed trees. I swam in clear creeks and cold oceans. And in and around this I helped a woman fight lung cancer and watched her madness bloom. And she was mentally ill. And spiritually depleted and then I undid her hoard when she died.
Terry Lee Schutte is a story for another post. But here beside me is the markings of where it began: a magazine I bought to inspire my blogging, as I recuperated from a cholecystemtomy. Terry’s phone number, the number to the agency purported to help seniors get to treatment. Here it is “Artful Blogging”.
The magazine revealed itself to me at the beginning of this year, 2015. And I promised said spouse I would start blogging again this year by March 1st. And while I do not know anything at this moment. I know on Thursday I turn 55. I’ve done my time in the shadow or recurrent cancer, the rest of my time will always have this shadow and that is a story in of itself. One that I don’t really truly tell.
So I did. I will. I am. And I am grateful. Here’s what I hope to do: post poems because I write them (again!) and photography (cause I love it and have being doing it forever) and music. . .and food. I cook. I love food.
Gonna keep these promises, for me.