Modern Frustrations

I settled into my studio this morning for what was to be a productive full day's work and within minutes that plan crashed along with my computer.

It really had not ever given me any problems, no funny noises, no odd screens ... just an ratcheting noise, a freeze up, then failure to re-boot.

Unfortunately, I've been meaning to get an off-site back-up for that computer, but just had not gotten around to it. Most of my writing for the last three years is on that hard-drive.

Luckily I've backed up a lot of my writing on flash-drives and always print out a hard copy of everything, so none of my writing is lost. But the business I do for a couple of organizations I work for has not been backed up.

To make this even more frustrating, I'm on day 11 of my car being in for repairs and I'm juggling rides.

I always think writing is such a low-tech profession. All you really need is paper and a pencil - but take away those modern conveniences for a while - and I'm struggling and running in circles and not feeling productive at all!

April Again

It is April again.

One year ago, in a time that felt endless and yet passed so quickly, I was an observer to my mother’s last few weeks of life. I felt like a useless, hopeless, helpless wraith standing in the shadows powerless to do anything while she moved steadily down a road it was her time to travel. I was scribbling poems last April, writing about doctor visits, get well flowers and signs from God, but even the poems that weren’t directly about her wore a dark undercoat of my fear.

One day a care package arrived on my doorstep. I found it there on the front porch on one of the worst days of my life, the day I brought my mother home from the hospital to die. There was a glass jar filled with tulips, a bag of chocolates, a box of tea and a notebook. On the first page was a note from my dear writing friends inviting me to write about my feelings.

So, I did.

I wrote about the last hours of Mom’s life, about planning the funeral, about the ceremony. I wrote about the trip to the cemetery in between thunderstorms where I felt a small amount of peace for the first time in weeks as we laid Mom to rest next to Dad in a plot they picked out themselves because it was next to her parents and under a tree Dad particularly liked.

I wrote about my sister-in-laws, both of whom acted poorly – one snubbed me and one ignored me – and about the troublesome brother who took his pain out on me. I wrote about all the problems and agony sorting through the house when I felt I was emotionally and physically getting worn to the bone.

I wrote about my anger. Anger at my Mom for dying and leaving all this on my shoulders, anger at my brothers for getting off Scott-free doing none of the work and feeling none of the pain. And angry at myself for feeling so fragile and vulnerable and, yes, angry at these people I loved.

As I read through a lot of my writing from last year, I see that it’s all colored by my grief, even when I thought I was writing about something completely different. Several times I wrote about clearing my head, about putting aside the sadness, but it wasn’t really happening. Some incident would come up and I would feel like I was back to square one. It’s only now, when it’s April again and the daffodils are starting to pop, that I feel a bit better.

Mom’s birthday was in April. That date is still the code to get into her house; a sad reminder that this year she would have turned 80 and I was planning to give her a big party with all the family invited. Several years ago I started a tradition of giving Mom flowers on my birthday, May 4, as a thank you. Last year she died on May 1 and the flowers I gave her on my birthday were to decorate her casket.
This year I’ll wait a few more weeks until the weather is warm enough and then I’ll start a different tradition I will carry on for the rest of my life. I will decorate her grave with flowers and send up a prayer of thanks for the 57 years we had together.

And I’ll also say a prayer of gratitude for my writing friends – Ali, Sue, and Judy – who have been so patient with me this year. All of them have lost their own mothers, making us kindred spirits in a couple of ways – we are all writers and now every one of us is a motherless child navigating this world. But, we know how to take our feelings to the page and emerge transformed and ready to face our journeys like the Monarchs in our gardens last summer.

Spring Writing

My writing quartet met at Judy's house the other night and, in addition to a delicious supper, she served lemon meringue pie! Yum! She knows the way to my heart, and to her husband's too since he didn't want any of us to have seconds!

We only meet once a month and we take turns hosting. I so look forward to those times; it's a little oasis in a hectic life. Someone cooks a delicious dinner and then we sit around and talk about our writing and other things in our lives and there is no rushing off to do something else.

Next month it's my turn to host, and it's also near to the time of my birthday, so I'm planning a special meal and dessert. And I'm hoping it will be warm enough to sit outside. Happy spring everybody - finally!

Writing Rally

I just got back from Lansing, Michigan where I attended a Writers' Rally. It was an event with an opening speaker, a keynote speaker at lunch and four one-hour workshops you could choose from during the day.

I talked with a lot of nice people, met some new Michigan writers I've been wanting to meet and touched base with some I've met in the past.

I also came away ready to jump into my writing full time, and got some hints on marketing and new markets I can approach.

So, I'm going to start working hard, put my butt in the chair and write, and hopefully by this time next year, if I decide to return to that rally, I'll have some results to report.