Tag Archives: passion

On the eve of my 100th birthday

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Written for the Daily Post Challenge: You have the chance to write one last post on your blog before you stop blogging forever.

Last blog entry – March 27th,  2069 – the eve of my 100th birthday

I am a smoldering pot of emotion.  This blogging journey, and all of you, my fellow writers, have taught me a great deal about myself.  I was apprehensive beginning what I thought would be a whim, but what truly turned into a collection of moments that, once they were added together, defined me.  From the rare glimpses into my humor to the things that truly touched my heart, I have bared my soul through pontificating on these random polysyllabic profundities.

Many suns have set as I assumed the position at my keyboard, unaware that the day had passed and the night had now enveloped the walls of my widow’s peak to which I have become accustomed to writing behind.  The wind has frolicked through the leaves and tickled them on its way.  Those same leaves have fallen to allow for the snow to blanket the branches, season after season, and I was none the wiser.  Months, even years passed as my mind was lost in thoughts of future tales to tell.

And now, in what may be my eleventh hour, I am overcome with grief as I say goodbye to what has possibly been one of few true friends that genuinely understood me.  This blog has been the one confidant that I was able to tell my deepest secrets.  It let me rant when I needed to release my anger, it laughed at my humor and embraced me when I wrote about things that absolutely broke my heart.  It has nursed me through the passing of loved ones and helped me welcome the next generations into our family.  And now, as I sit alone on my last night on this earth, it is this blog that is my only companion, for it sees me as I truly am.  I want my family to remember me full of life and not a feeble, bed-ridden old woman, barely able to type.

There is a slight chill in the air and I feel the darkness seeping into the corners of my eyes.  I shall hit ‘publish’ one last time so my last words will enter the blogosphere as I enter the light.  My words will be there to greet you one last time as those who have passed before me await my arrival to join them in that place beyond our world.  Thank you for joining me on what was a very long, but extremely fulfilling journey.

Like sands through the hourglass – these are the thoughts in my head

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At the risk of seeming overly loquacious, I have challenged myself to post every day for the month of November.  What began as a drip of creativity has turned into a steady stream and threatens to flood my thoughts, and my keyboard.  The words that I envisioned having to struggle to find are lending themselves with no contest and ideas present themselves in unending fashion.  The sands in the hourglass that represent my ideas seem to refill themselves as quickly as they dissipate through the pinhole in that blown glass.

No longer is my imagination confined in such a small space.  No longer are my thoughts trapped in a glass bulb, buried in a myriad of cognitive ideas.  With one gentle turn, the essence of my words now flows as freely as those infinitesimal grains.  Ideas churn in the vortex of sand as they fight to free themselves from the bottleneck and into their new-found freedom.

Those thoughts, each small granule of sand that escapes into the path of indulgence,  remind me why I began this journey.  I am compelled to follow this yearning to put letters and words on a page.  I find myself creating characters and dialogue while I shop for groceries.  I compose outlines while driving home from work and I dream in paragraphs.

I write because I am inspired to write.   I write to indulge the little voices in my head that lead me into creativity, and I write because, through my writing, I have finally discovered who I was meant to be.

There’s no place like home

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If you read my post yesterday, you’ll know I awoke out of a comfortable sleep and repeated the phrase “white rabbit” three times.  It’s an old family tradition meant to bring luck for the remaining days of that month.  I do believe we create our own luck to some extent, but there are definitely external forces, with perhaps a bit of Karma thrown in for good measure, that help propel us into those moments of good fortune.

I haven’t checked my astral projections to know if my stars were aligned yesterday (I don’t really do that), but the day was full of positive energy and the God’s seem to smile favorably upon me in many ways.  Probably the most exciting news was the possibility of writing a page for a local magazine that has a feature written by selected guest writers about the area that I am proud to call my home.  The decision will be made after the editor has decided that my writing prowess cuts the mustard, but I’m hopeful that I will pass the test.

Writing, to me, is about combining things I truly believe in with an honesty that the reader can not only relate to, but can find charm and warmth in the words that I feel strongly about putting on a page.  Writing is about bringing life and imagery to the forefront of the reader’s mind and helping them experience the same passion I feel for the subject about which I so diligently write and rewrite.

I know another blogger (and successful author) who is making the pilgrimage back to a place she truly calls home.  It is her muse and her refuge from a world that she blended into, but never could truly call her home.  I know that she will find solace in enveloping herself in the place she can genuinely feel like she is herself and that natural landscape will welcome her back with open arms.  There is no place like home.

My desire is that the panorama of my daily life and the poetry of my words will collide to create a spectral portrait and do justice to the beauty in which I am fortunate enough to spend my days and nights.  It is the song of my soul.  It is my true home.

With my writing cap on and my fingers poised above the keyboard, I will click my ruby slippers three times and forge into a tale of love for a landscape that has embedded itself into the cells of my being.  Home is where the heart is, and my heart only beats here.