Wild Writing 21st January 2023
It was because I had a few hours to myself this morning that I found I was able to get to sit down and think, "What do I want to do?" Don't misunderstand me, as I looked around the house there was plenty of "jobs" that called to me and which I could have happily occupied myself with.
But today I wanted to spend some time playing.
I wanted to spend some time playing with words.
Interestingly, last week I randomly found a free five day "Wild Writing Course", which I thought I'd like to do. Just as quickly as I had that thought I put it out of my mind, because, you know, how would I fit in these zoom sessions.
Although I didn't consciously think about it over the next few days, it was obviously fluttering about somewhere inside me and, with time to spare this morning I now went looking for it.
Luckily for me, not only did I find the course, but there were recordings of the sessions, which meant that I could partake of them at my leisure.
So, for an hour, not totally uninterrupted, I worked through the first recording. I am so thankful for this time.
Listening to the two poems, that were used as prompts, inspired and encouraged me to be brave with my own "Wild Writing".
For instance, the poem "Every Grace" by Stella Nesanovich, helped me to appreciate how simple, ordinary, moments can be Holy. I am thankful that, there on the page, I recorded, those shards of time when I made happy connections with some of the people I love.
Photo Credit - Argos
One of those times was baking with two of my gorgeous grandaughters. Oh the joy, the laughter, the chatting as our lives were softly bound together just like the ingredients in our cake were mixed and beaten together - every egg, every spoon of sugar and flour, every ounce of butter - until the texture was just right. Finally, when baked it became, like we had, a new creation. The process of baking - weighing ingredients, combining them the right way, etc etc..- was less important than sharing those precious , ordinary, Holy moments. The smiles, the stories, the questions. Precious indeed.
Photo Credit - Getty Images
Walking with a friend along the coastal path was another cause for me giving thanks this week. Again, I thought of it because of the poem.
Going at quite a pace we breathed the briny air deep into our lungs, while seagulls squawked in the blue sky above us and winter waves crashed against the barriers.
We walked into the strong wind, all the while chatting and laughing about all sorts of unimportant, yet vital, trivia, both of us wallowing, one in the comfortable company of the other, sharing everything and nothing.
At the end of our walk, we hugged, we said goodbye, but we both felt much lighter for our time together.
Then there was the phone call with one of my daughters who I don't get to see as often as I'd like , yet, even though many miles separate us we are deeply connected and our friendship grows with the passing of the years as we build each other up and understand each other better and love each other more. That's just one phone call from one daughter. I am truly blessed that I have a good , loving, relationship ( but different, obviously) with each of my children, grandchildren and great grandchildren.
It's like this, and I've said it before and I repeated it again to my son's partner when they visited me unexpectedly this morning. A distraction, I have to say, I was more than happy with. It's like this: I ask the question, if I were to die today what regrets would I have or what would I be sorry I didn't do or didn't see?
It's a question I've asked myself often and this morning I answered in response to this lovely thirty something girl feeling stuck and fed up and that life is passing her by and there's so much that she hasn't done and still wishes to do but is too scared to take a risk.
If I had little time left on earth, it wouldn't be the places I haven't visited, like Venice or America, that I would be sorry about, it would be not loving enough the family and friends I've been so fortunate to have in my life.
And really, that's it.
