It's about time I posted something new on this ratty old thing. A year and a half ago, as part of one of my Masters classes, I was writing "morning pages (see The Artist's Way)," for a few months, and I just found them again this morning and was reading through them. I thought perhaps I'd post some of them, in part. They're pretty good. Although, really, you're not ever supposed to go back and look at them again, as I recall. They are meant to release creativity. You just write and write, without worrying about what is coming out. You don't edit yourself or proofread later. You just GO. But anyway. Here's something:
February 8, 2009 Sunday
This is the first time I’ve written morning pages on a Sunday morning. It’s becoming a welcome habit. I’ve been thinking more and more about writing . . . I love love love being up early in the morning, the only person awake in the house. I love this quiet. I love knowing my loved ones are asleep and safe, peaceful. I love my cup of hot water and lemon, I love saying good-morning to the pets and glimpsing the morning sky through the crack in the curtains, the beginnings of light. I love that I’m not in a hurry to go anywhere or get anything done. I love the cat sitting on the shelf peeking his head out the curtain because he loves the morning too. I love that I have a magazine and book right next to me, and I get to read at my leisure. I love the sound of the furnace turning on and off. I love being in my jammies. I love the feeling of an empty stomach, and the promise of breakfast. I love planning and dreaming, all silently in my head. I love my hands in the hot soapy water washing last night’s few dinner dishes. I love that right now I’m warm and still, and that in a couple of hours I’ll be outside in the brisk air, running, running, running. I love possibilities. So many! I remember a poem I wrote once, about washing dishes in the early morning, and a child in a blanket sleeper shuffling in with sleepy eyes to say good-morning. I wish I knew where that poem was. It was a good one. I have poems all over the place; not smart. Some are lost for good. I should make an effort to round them all up into one place. When I think of that poem though, it’s Caden I picture in the jammies. His sweet little sleepy face, coming to me for a hug. Ah, it’s almost heartbreaking to remember, it’s so real, and I want that time back. I want to be able to enjoy it again. What little loves they were. You would think memories like that would be nothing but sweet, but they are heartbreakingly sweet. I was a good mom for those little kids, but I could have done much better for them as they were teenagers. That’s ironic, considering three of them still are. I think I’m a better mom for Susannah in some ways, but everything is different. And when I say different I don’t necessarily mean better. Today, I will be the happy person I want to be. I will smile, and I will make everyone else’s day. I will think happy thoughts. That is my goal. Amen.
2 comments:
Thank you, thank you, thank you for posting again. Thank you for sharing thoughts that aren't gauged for me or for anyone, but that just are. Thank you for sharing your heart, because when you do, I can feel you and I am refreshed.
By the way, you have ALWAYS been an amazing mother! I have a lot of thoughts/feelings about what an exceptional mother you have been and are, but perhaps this isn't the best forum to share them. Just let me say two quick things...1) I have been made a better mother by your example, 2) You do the best you can do and the rest is up to them.
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