I think there will be many moments in days ahead when I happen upon something or have some experience that I will record on my blog. They are often called, "serendipity" times - seeming to happen by chance but bringing delight.
If looked at closely - they may hold more for me to see!
I am going through some boxes of treasures set aside. You know those kinds of boxes. They are “sort of” organized but ( in my case), they are more by topics with hopes to fine tune later.
The box I took out tonight is marked:
Lynn’s Writings and Art Designs.
One of the treasures is a letter I wrote and my mother sent to my grandmother “from me” when I was in Kindergarten.
Apparently, I had quite a sense of style back then.
Apparently I had a lot to say but not the skills yet
to create many words.
I was wanting to tell my grandmother all about my birthday.
How wonderful that my mother kept this among her belongings and later passed it along to me or I’d not have it to bring these moments of delight looking back at the beginnings of who I have become.
Also in this box were some words I penned approximately 53 years later in 2001, some months after my mother’s death. I was at a writers’ critique group and we were given an exercise to do.
Here is what came forth - poured out from a heart in grief but not unlike the Kindergarten younger Lynn who had a lot to say and had to express it in some fashion.
This exercise is to incorporate all of the following words into an article, short story, poem or whatever comes to mind. You must use all of the words ( in any order) to complete the exercise but the context in which they are used is up to you.Think about the words for a few minutes before you start to write and see what pictures come to mind - then see if you can weave them all together into a piece of writing. You have ten minutes.
Powerful. Deep. Change. Spring. Glass.
Star. Brush. Special. Shaking. Poor
My legs were shaking as I crumpled into the seemingly deep spring grass. It was evening and the deep feelings inside my grief-filled soul were powerful - such a change from a year ago at this time. My spirit seemed poor, robbed of the presence of my Mother with whom my whole life had been shared. Life seemed to be lived and seen as through an opaque glass. . . not quite the clarity I am used to.
Lifting my eyes to the darkened sky, a brush stroke of stars washed their way across the night and with the twinkling of the view. . . a special stirring flickered within. Perhaps my Mom’s presence, still within me, could be seen
as the memories in each star light,
as the twinkle that once lit her eyes,
in the life her artist’s paint still wanted
to brush into the life I am yet to live.
