Finding old poems, stories and love words in an unmarked folder

It seems we are all using these cold days of winter to go through and discard as much as we can live without. I am no exception. I worked in my studio today. I had a stack of files I had planned to look at for some time. I found the folder I made on the Gibson family and those friends of mine who had donated money to the Katrina victims after my sister and her husband set up a fund to help them save their flooded home. I felt good because the family is now doing fine and Gigi, the mother, started another restaurant but this time in Roswell, GA.

I found lots of stuff that could be tossed, but I felt my heart soar when I came across writing I had done many years before I had a computer. I have wondered for years what became of my poems, a children’s manuscript and some light verse poems poking fun at Barry’s HAM radio hobby. 

The script type took me back to the lovely little blue electric typewriter Barry gave me when he realized that I was a writer and wanted to publish my work someday. Not knowing anything about what I needed, he had no idea that I’d never submit my work in script. Even a novice like I was then knew that would not be acceptable.  Seeing those pages reminded me how he always supported me and what I wanted to do. He thought I was an excellent writer. I thought he was an excellent musician and singer as well as having many other talents. 

Barry Beall

 

Finding these kinds of things is what makes de-cluttering so difficult. Finding my story about Prissy the Pink Poodle stopped my work, and I had to read every word I wrote so many years ago. Among the faded papers was one on which I had written what I loved and appreciated about Barry. It was almost a love letter, but it was not written to him. 

Did I ever tell him all the things I wrote on that paper that day? Did he hear those words come from my mouth or did I just let them flow out of my fingers and embed themselves where no one but I would see them again?

 I titled the piece, Thank you, God, for Barry. It was stream of consciousness writing and no editing.

This is a little bit of what I wrote back then:

“Thank you, God, for giving him blue eyes that sometimes change and almost always twinkle with a little boy type of mischief.  I am grateful for his manly concern for my welfare, for the confidence I can place in him when I need him, which is all the time…

I want to thank you, God, for his tenderness and caring for animals, for his gentle nature and warm love for people.” 

After long years of marriage, we often take for granted that our partner knows how we feel. I hope I told him that I was thankful for all his goodness to me. I hope I said those things, especially at those times when he could use a kind word to boost his spirits and when he just needed, as we all do, to be reassured that he was loved.

Pamper Myself Month

August is  here.

The buzz of the insects in the woods and the shadows' change in slant are telling signs to me that fall will be here before we know it. The cool mornings draw me out to sit on my deck and "live in the moment" which I am trying very hard to do now.

The coming week will be busy for me. I have begun physical therapy twice a week and I hope it will help me regain strength and use of my leg and hip. I am doing much better now and can go up and down the stairs with little worry. I don't think I'm  "done" yet.

I am excited about my writing class at Tri-County Community College which begins Tuesday. We have some beginning writers who are champing at the bit to get their words on paper and have some constructive feedback. Who knows what will happen in their lives once they start to put their thoughts and ideas out there for others to read?

I advocate for some things that are very important to me. Writing is one of them. Writing is the best way I know to improve focus when we feel scattered. When I wake up and feel overwhelmed with all the tasks and chores that lie ahead of  me, I calm myself by writing it all down. Make a list and see what can be postponed until tomorrow. Often that is all  I really need to do. Prioritize my to do list.

When I find myself unable to sleep or concentrate because of some problem or matter, I find that if I write about it, both sides of the issue, a solution will come to me. If I am pondering a decision, I make two lists. One is the Pro list and  one is the Con list.

The solution might be to let go of this for awhile and revisit it later. My husband gave me good advice when he saw me fretting over something. "Just forget about it for now. It probably won't happen or if it does, it won't be as bad as you think it  will." He was usually right. 

I've read that good writers don't like to  think of writing as therapy. I believe that writing is great therapy. Recently, after a long tiring day, I came home and sat down to the computer. For months I've had to set a  timer and  be sure I didn't sit for more than fifteen or twenty minutes without getting up and walking around. This time I forgot to set the timer. I forgot everything, even my long hard day, and for almost three hours I wrote about a period of my life that I have not touched on in the past. When I finished I checked the word count of my document. It was over 4000 words. 

My feeling of satisfaction went deep but I was amazed that I could  sit there for that long pouring out all those words without the normally resulting pain in every muscle and joint.  An Aha Moment for  sure. Losing myself in writing affected my entire body. It took away my pain and lifted my spirits higher than any medicine could have done. As author, Maren Mitchell, says in her book,  Beat Chronic Pain, An Insider’s Guide,  distraction helps chronic pain,  but I think this therapy went even deeper. The subject matter transported me back to a very  happy time in my life and for those hours of writing I escaped from here and now. Writing was the time machine that transported me back to when I was nineteen and twenty years old, innocent of tragedies and losses of my present life.  

Just the right time

This happened at a most opportune time as I have just declared August to be Pamper Myself Month.

I gifted myself with a dozen roses, and interspersed with baby's breath, they sit on my table where I see them all day long. The roses are a reminder that I am worthy, I am viable and I love myself.  

Please leave your comments below or email me: gcbmountaingirl@gmail.com 

Poodle on a Noodle Reminds me of Brandy, my first dog

Recently at a writers’ conference, I met a delightful new author, Laura Parker, who stole my heart. She has written a picture book for children starring her ten pound black poodle, Casey. 

Casey

My husband gave me, for my wedding gift, a little bundle of black fur, a black miniature poodle we named Brandy, who ran my life, captured my love, and grew to be an important part of my family. Brandy sometimes ran away from home in the morning when I let him outside, but he never went too far. He trotted down the farm road to see my mother who let him into the kitchen and fed him hot buttered biscuits from her breakfast table. Why was that so unusual? Mother never let us have a dog in the house when we were growing up. Dogs belong in the yard, she told us.

Knowing how precocious and charming a poodle can be, I was intrigued when I learned about Casey and the book he inspired. Laura, the author and mama of Casey, is a cancer survivor and this book is the direct result of Laura's personal experience. A portion of proceeds is donated to help eradicate childhood cancer and other childhood diseases.

She and Casey live in Woodstock, Georgia, where my good friends, Jeff and Wanda live, and where Jeff is fighting cancer at this time.

Please visit Casey’s website and also read Laura’s blog.

And if you are inclined, purchase a copy of Poodle on aNoodle for some child in your life. They will love it and you will be helping to fund more research for childhood cancer.