I have been blogging now for almost ten months and until today did not stop to think about the whole process. But an email from a concerned member made me review my contributions to date and in turn this blog has to be written.
In the beginning, way back in October, I was unsure as to what a Blog actually meant. As I recall, I asked my son to explain this new concept to me and he said ''well just write about anything really''. And so I did. I decided to blog about my daily life, the ups and downs, the musings of a mother and a part time writer, the pensive, sometimes dark moments we all surely have but, unfortunately for some people, the thoughts remain silent and unspoken.
First and foremost I have tried in my writing to be true to myself and luckily that has not been difficult for me. For starters I do not have allusions to being permanently bouyant. I wonder who is? Some readers, as in the email I received today, seem to be under the impression that I am suffering from Depression and that assumption would be erroneous. The things I write about are true and real and unless I write about those things I would really have nothing to write about! The moments must be documented and if they appear sad, well, that's because they are. Being sad or contemplative is essential to writing and to life. If we cannot express the reality well forget it. By exploring our feelings and our existence surely we have come to the true core. Personally, I am challenged and ultimately healthier by not choosing to ignore those moments of despair as well as the times of light and joy.
The proverbial bowl of cherries sadly contains some bruised fruit. Why not write about it? I never expected anyone to give a hoot about my life or to be curious as to how I lived. But I was amazed to see that some did. I shared rain showers and clouds and bog walks and the first flower of Spring, my son's freckled face, his new bicycle and the acquisition of a second dog. I wrote about a swim in the cold Atlantic and my mother's death. I wrote about loneliness, a bowl of green olives, shopping for a new sweater and taking my son to the train station in the early morning and countless other moments...that I cannot recall right now.
I shared a mixture of fears and doubts and rejoicing over my offspring. My doubts and suspicions about the church and God and my disgust with racism. I shared meals cooked with care, talking to trees and a dining room table etched with words.
Doubt. Fear. Death. Love. Sun. Darkness. Tears. Cobwebs. Laughter. Ups. Downs. Food. Wine. Circles. Flowers. Skies. Potatoes. Children. Regret. Dogs. Rain. And in a nutshell. Life.