Gimpy Grace and her computer

Ok, so I sprained....

my instep.

My instep?

I have never heard of such a thing. It makes me smile each time I hear it. How ridiculous. How totally something "Grace" would do. 

So I have been hobbled and actually so is my computer also. The virus my daughter downloaded has won. I am going to have to break down and go have it fixed professionally. I can tell. Grrrr. 

Her only salvation is there are 3 computers in the house and I can occasionally get on one of the others.

Play Day

I have so much to do that I decided I needed a play break first. I had so many grand plans. Instead I got to wake up and find out my daughter had completely inundated my computer with spyware playing on myspace last night. I am furious. It still isn't gone. We'll see if I can get it gone myself. Ugh.

EXACTLY what I needed

I haven't blogged twice in one day in well... well I don't know how long.

Sigh. Smile. Wow.

My easel is back up in my studio and I sat there for 15 minutes having bursts of ideas of all the possible things I could do with that blank canvas sitting there. I am so relieved. There was a point a year ago I wasn't sure I would ever create again.

Why do I always forget that there is a season to everything in life?

God has taught and retaught me this lesson so often I should have it etched in my soul. Nope. My built in forgetter is stronger.

The only wondrous thing about a season of grief for me is the re-awakening. The sights all around me are new again, the colors of the trees, the bright sunlight, the sounds of a Florida thunderstorm, all are wondrous again.

Thank you, Thank you, Thank you...

Julia Cameron "The Artists Way"

I first found this book in my early 20's. It was a wonder for my soul. It introduced a few tools to my creative life that I have found essential over the years and that I have continued. One tool is called Morning Pages. For three handwritten pages you write a stream of consciousness. In essence you throw out anything on your mind without editing. The second tool I have continued is called Artists Dates. You take your inner artist out to play. Inner child, inner artist, playful side, creative soul... I don't care what you label that spark within us all that screams to play. Once a week you consciously make time where playing is an end in itself.

Recently I found a group that will be reading and working through the entire book together starting the beginning of February. I am excited to revisit the path again and see what tools stick in my 39 year old mind compared to 18 years ago when I first worked through this book.

On another note, my youngest daughter has moved home, finished her GED and starts classes for medical lab assisting January 22nd. I am so proud of her. If anyone had the roughest time after my son's suicide it was her. Plus, she is doing all this while working 30 hours a week.

It is difficult at times to not ponder, "What lessons did my daughter learn that my son didn't?" Yeah, yeah, I know, a useless exercise. My mind will still try to answer these things though. I keep reminding myself that the disease of addiction knows no boundaries and when a person is active in their addiction it takes over everything. Intellectually I know this is the truth. I lived it. It is harder as a Mom. It doesn't help that my Grandmother, my last Grandparent died last month. It reminds me the generations are turning, the wheel always moves. My parents are both retired now and I am a Grandmother myself. Life continues on.

It is interesting to step back and observe myself lately. I am so alone in the middle of a crowd. Most only know one aspect of my life, on a rare occasion two. I even had my sister tell me she doesn't know who I am. She is 10 years younger than I am and lives 1200 miles away. It made me sad. I may start writing about what is important to me for her...

Freedom

I loved my first blog. I was writing almost every day with complete freedom.

Then...

I started to make friends. Now let me tell you we all need friends. Friends are important in this world. I, however, place high expectations on myself when I call someone friend. So what was a joyful place where I could stretch my writing wings morphed into a place where I felt I was expected to do certain things. Write on certain subjects on certain days. Respond cheerfully. Sound witty. Spell check. Not grieve as much or as long as I needed over certain losses. It became another responsibility in my mind.

Here, I will write just for me. Free.