November Blog #7: "A Picture of Your Day"

Day 25:  A Picture of Your Day

Today I found a tick on the carpet in our dining room.  Not just a tick crawling across the floor, but a hugely engorged post buffet tick.  This guy couldn’t even move he was so full; it’s hard to tell how long he was rolling around there.   

Last night Buster was aggressively scratching in the room I found it in, so I am guessing he flung it off then and it was just rolling around for a half a day until I found it?  Ew.  I’m just happy that I found it and not the baby!  Yuk.  Thankfully, also, I didn’t step on it or crush it!  It looked like a small, odd colored raisin.  It looked so big to me when I looked down and saw it.  It is crazy to think that ticks are so much worse now than they were when I was a child.  That would have been a bloody mess! 

I never got a tick in this area when I was little and I ran all through these woods!  We were hardly ever inside as kids and we never got ticks around the house, to my knowledge.  My brother and I each got one, if I recall, when we went to visit my aunt and uncle on their farm in Virginia when I was maybe 5 or 6.  That is the only time I can remember getting a tick until I was around 21 years old!   

It’s crazy to think how many more ticks we are pulling off of ourselves and our pets now.  It is also scary that we have to worry about things like Lyme disease now, which is something that was seldom heard off in these parts back in the day.  It’s crazy how things change.  Anyway, this guy was huge.  He certainly got a good meal out of Buster!  And it’s lame that he is taking over the woods and bringing disease with him.  

That's All, Folks! 

November Blog #6: "A Picture of Something You Wish You Could Change"

Day 24:  A Picture of Something You Wish You Could Change

(image: stuffnoonetoldme.blogspot.com)

“A mind is a terrible thing to waste…” as the UNCF maxim states.  Well, I personally feel that a mind is also a terrible thing not to change.  Of all the things I would like to see change, I would like a change of mind.

I personally am continuously looking for ways to change my mind.  I am, also, incredibly indecisive, which, I have deduced, is basically the fear of wanting to change your mind later.  So why do I feel I have been discouraged from changing my mind by society?  I’m changing all the time!  So is everyone and everything else in existence!  I would like to be open to change my mind.  I want to change my mind; I want you to change your mind!  I want us all to change our collective mind(s).  

As a teenager I felt overly encouraged to choose, decide, and “MAKE UP YOUR MIND!”  Make it up to never change it again?  But, that decision would only be based on who I am at this moment…and that is always changing.  What do I know?  And what if I change my mind?  (And I did.)

Changing your mind seems to be played off as something that you only do if you are either on a quest for god or working on your twelve steps. Change seems to denote negative qualities more than good.  It is mostly either dreaded, or greatly desired.  While this isn’t true in all cases, it just seems dreaded more often than not.  But why is that??  As the Barack Obama campaign suggested, can’t change be good?  Can’t CHANGE be HOPEful?  The president was able to “take it back” in a manner or speaking, and remind the people that CHANGE is what you want.  Change should be desirable!  (We’re not getting political here! Just an example! ha.)  My point being, change shouldn’t be feared so much and should be seen as a great opportunity for growth!  

Now, I understand that we must stick to our guns in most cases or our endeavors will bear no fruit.  Stay the course, and all that good stuff; the world would be in chaos if nobody ever decided on anything and then held true to that belief or goal.  Many people generally don’t want to deal with or see change, though, let alone change their minds.  They live in a constant state of mild fear because of this.  Change can be quite unpleasant at times to the human being and if we learn one thing from babies/toddlers it’s that repetition makes humans feel safe.  We want similarities, not differences.  We want to know what to expect.  But what is the Universe if not unpredictable?  

Nothing within the Universe is static; everything is flux.  So, why then do we seem designed to derive comfort from repetition and “sameness”?  Which is basically, what?  Order.  We want order.  The human mind is a little OCD if you think about it.  “A place for everything; everything in its place,” and all.  We seek to find order in chaos whenever possible.  That’s how we roll!  We’re searching for symmetry…beauty…in everything we view.  We naturally want it all good.  We sentimentally want the Yin without the Yang…or the Yang with the Yin.  Either way, we want things to make sense.  That is how we are programmed to view our reality.  Is it possible that change simply doesn’t make sense to ou­­r programming?  And not making sense=stress.  Therefore, change=stress.  Changing our mind, however, I think is a useful tool.  Maybe this is how we are meant to evolve?  One of the greatest things about this reality, however we choose to view it, is just that.  We choose however we view it.  If we don’t like something…we have the choice to change our mind about that.  (I know, this is easier said than done, right?  It’s a life journey, but you get my point.)   We are the director.  Our attention is the photographer.  Our mind is the camera.  We always have a choice of how to view things and if we don’t like what our mind is saying to us, as incredibly hard as it is to master, we do have the power to change it. 

I think that utilizing our ability to change our minds symbolizes our willingness to evolve.  Our ancestors were survivors (obviously), and they had to be flexible in order to be adaptable enough to survive.  They were mind changers from way back.  Change isn’t always a bad thing and changing your mind is very beneficial to your survival.  I believe the mind, when changed and manipulated, can be (wo)man’s best friend.  When left running on its own inertia, it is our greatest foe.   

I wanted to write more about this, but I changed my mind.  Can I change my mind?  I can, and I will.  It’s my life choice.    

Me to You,
Missie Sue

November Blog #5: "SPOILER ALERT: The Color Purple In a Nutshell"

Day 23 - A Picture of Your Favorite Book

The Color Purple by Alice Walker

“SPOILER ALERT:  The Color Purple In a Nutshell” 

The Color Purple is the story of women’s struggles with inequality and oppression; a tale of love, heartache, inner strength and one’s own personal journey of faith.  Celie, the main character and narrator, starts off writing letters to God because she has no where else to turn for an outlet as she is being abused by her stepfather, who tells her she is going to do “what her mama can’t”, as her mother is too busy dying of cancer or something to take care of her husband’s needs.  Her stepfather continually rapes her, impregnating her twice and taking the babies and supposedly killing them in the woods.  She is the ugly older sister, and is eventually sent off to marry a man, simply referred to as Mr. by Celie or Albert to others.  Mr. originally wanted the hand of her prettier younger sister Nettie, however, Celie’s stepfather convinces him to take her instead, saying Nettie is too young and Celie is no longer able to conceive, a plus if you already have about 20 children that need a mother and basically just want a servant who can literally do the dirty work.  After Celie is married to Mr. and moved in with him in order to raise his children and tend to his home, Nettie soon comes to stay with her so as to escape the sexual advances of their stepfather herself.  (Mind you at this point in the book, both Celie and Nettie and therefore the reader, have no idea that it is their stepfather.  They believe the man to be their own father.)  Celie and her sister Nettie are extremely close and during their time together, Nettie attends school and teachers Celie how to read as she learns more.  Ultimately, though, Mr. advances on Nettie.  She fights off his attempts, and he banishes her from his property, separating Celie and Nettie from each other.  

Albert tells Nettie she will never hear from her sister again and through all of the years hides away all of the letters she ever writes to Celie.  Unbeknownst to her, Nettie ends up going with Celie’s two biological children to Africa with the missionary couple that actually adopted them when their stepfather said he had killed them.  Celie will not get these letters until sometime later and throughout most of the story believes her sister to be dead.  She endures years of abuse at the hand of her husband as well as torment from his children she was forced to raise.  It was an unloving marriage of his convenience.  Ironically, it is Shug Avery, Albert’s mistress, who comes to stay with them for a time when she is sick, who teaches Celie some of her most valuable life lessons, including how to love and be loved.  This is more evidence indeed that you learn your lessons in the most peculiar places from the most implausible people. 

She ends up having feelings for Shug and a relationship of sorts, as Shug is Celie’s first true encounter with love.  Shug teaches Celie how to view God differently, to view it not as a white man with a beard as she always has, but as she sees fit to suit her.  She teaches her to appreciate the good things in life including the blowing trees and the color purple. 

Celie truly comes full circle and over the length of the tale develops into a true person instead of a sub human character.  Her real inner strength is established and released as she finally stands up to Mr. and leaves him.  She opens her own business in her real father’s old store which she inherits, making “folks pants”.

The story is a journey that takes place over a lifetime.  By the end of the tale, Celie is finally reunited with her sister and her children.  This is really an in a nutshell summary; there are plenty more themes throughout this book as well as more interesting characters that have a lot to offer to the story as well.  This is one of my favorite books as well as movies, though as with most cases, the book is a lot better. 

I don’t want to completely spoil it if you haven’t read it already.  Read it!  It’s a beautiful story.  It’s a classic.  I highly recommend it.  …if you like such things. 

MTY,
Missie Sue

November Blog #4: "I'm Not An Addict, Babe...Eeeh....That's a Lie!"

"When you are writing, do you prefer to use a pen or a computer?"

While the computer is a useful writer’s pal, especially in today’s day and age, there is nothing quite like pen on paper.  Like its predecessor the typewriter, the computer is the most practical way to do mass writing for web logs, novels, books, papers, etc.  I do most of my blogging/internet writing on the computer, of course, but when it comes to working on poetry or lyrics of any kind, I prefer my journals and tablets and papers, napkins, envelopes, and the like.  Something that allows you to slow down and be a bit more reflective.

If I am attempting to work on a story or something of that nature I usually prefer the computer; when I am inspired for a short burst the keyboard is a much faster means of getting it out right away.  I prefer journals and comfortable flowing pens for prose, poetry, or just random daily notes/musings or one sentence thoughts or reflections.  I have 2 main journals for writing such things in.    

Most of my writing during the majority of my life has actually been of the old fashioned pen and paper variety.   Actually, ever since I have been a pre teen I have had somewhat of an obsession or infatuation…fetish? …with stationary.  Pens…paper.  Journals…tablets…pencils.  I love it.  I probably have a handful of blank notebooks in the house at the moment.  My husband gets on me when we are in the store and I stop to peruse the stationary aisle.  The thing is, I am most times not interested in buying anything in particular.  I just want to browse.  I don’t know what it is.  Maybe how people window shop for clothes or can’t help but stop at the pet store window and look at the puppies?  Maybe I want something to cry out “take me home!” Who knows.  

I can’t help it; I love stationary.  I love fresh new pens, new markers, unsharpened pencils, mechanical pencil packs, Sharpies, highlighters, comfy grip medium pens, tablets, pads, sheets of paper, binders. I love journals, lovely journals covered in faux leather or canvas with the slim little silk of a book mark hanging daintily over her back!  Oh, the thinks you could write in all of those nice fresh lovely journals!  And look at that pack of new pens.  ….  What?  No.  I’m fine. 

My husband says I am a border-line hoarder, not only because of my stationary “problem”, but for my obsession with tubbies and totes, my desire to save “perfectly good boxes”, and my collecting of silver-backed wrappers for projects.  I have also, to his dismay, saved most of the baby food jars we have bought with the baby for a future project!  I’m not a hoarder, damn it!  Okay.  Alright, I can SEE where you might think it is a little bit of a problem, but trust me.  TRUST me.  I have it all under control!  I have plans.  I’m going to use all of this!  And what’s up with the boxes?? You just don’t know how to appreciate a PERFECTLY good cardboard box, man!  I mean, that thing is practically new, do you not understand the possibilities?  

Seriously, though, he knows I’m not a real hoarder, but I do have my “things” and he certainly knows them.  He does assist me in putting back all of my jars and tubbies into the nooks and crannies we have to offer for space in the shed , so my argument must be convincing enough anyway and I appreciate and love him for it.  ...But I can’t help it.  First of all, tubbies are just practical!  I mean, they hold stuff!   But, I do love stationary.  I have a pack of pens at least on deck usually, or always seem to buy packs to replace the ones I keep at my desk because they migrate.  I’m not sure where they go, I don’t know if they are like a faithful dog who wanders off into the woods to die when he’s gettin’ low?  If people take them accidentally with them?  I mean, I know I have about 30 of them right now in my purse probably, but still.  I keep buying them.  You would think I would end up with a lot more pen carcasses laying around here for the full packs I seem to buy?  I'm just a gatherer!  It's in my nature. My brain just knows that they're valuable!  It's like a bird making a nest!  "And now we add the pens!"   I want to stock pens!  I’m not sure where all the pens go, though...  ? It's a mystery. 

Anyway.  Yes.  Pen to paper.  I prefer pen to paper for “relaxed and reflective” writing.  I prefer computer for ranting because my fingers can do a better job at keeping up with my wandering mind on the keys than with a pen.  Although, if you saw my chicken scratch cursive scrawling, you’d probably think it was a close race.   

I personally like the Bic Atlantis.  It has been my pen of choice as of late.  I don’t like the fancy ball point type pens.  They’re nice and all but most run very easily if something is spilled on them.  It’s funny how people have favorite pens, but it is really just a tool, isn’t it?  To a writer, the pen is a tool just as the brush, the hammer, the chisel, the ax, the scalpel, the saw, or the knife.  Crafts(wo)men take pride in their tools.    

[ Got yourself a favorite pen? ]

November Blog #3: "So Tonight That I Might Sleep"

Well, it’s 9PM and as Mazzy Star's “Fade Into You” winds down and ends I can hear by the beautiful silence behind it that my little one finally must have “crossed over” into the realm of sleep. 
I’ll sit here and write this blog while listening to the Mazzy Star lullaby mix I have playing that I made during the newborn heyday so as not to disrupt the current sound/flow of the house; I have only been working on getting C down to bed for an hour now.  I think mama deserves this glass of wine tonight as she writes…or two.  ;)

My daughter has always been what I would call somewhat “stubborn” to get to sleep.  She’s overall a wonderful baby, and controls her tantrums pretty well considering the situations we find ourselves in when she is overly stimulated and tired.  I’m very proud of her behavior and general composure, but she has NEVER liked to sleep/nap from the beginning.  Starting around her second week of life she decided she simply did not like this sleep thing taking hold of her.  And so the war began!

Now, all moms know that patience is a virtue well earned if you can grasp its slippery hand during your daily battle of wills and wants, but my frustration will at times leave me feeling like a sub par mother, when on rough days in my head all I can think of is the title of the parody children’s bedtime book “Go the F*ck to Sleep!”  Sometimes I just want to read the book to her, a feeling I’m sure I share with a lot of parents.  I know I am at the very least not alone in this, and am sure I’ll feel this even more as the journey of motherhood unfolds!  (But how exactly does one prepare for the fiery pits of hell, anyway?  I jest.  Every day of motherhood is a blessing.)

Rocking your child to sleep in your arms is one of the most amazing feelings and experiences you will ever have.  That being said, though, I can’t help but think that rocking my daughter out on really bad nights might not be all that dissimilar to drowning a cat in a tub.  You have to, at times, physically restrain her until she starts to “cross over” successfully into sleep and you feel her body release and lose tension.  I have to firmly yet gently hold her against me to discourage her thrashing/squirming and pat her bum or back while either bouncing her simultaneously and/or humming into her ear with her little “Buddy” sea horse neo glow worm that plays music held up against her ear/head.  I used to explain her as a newborn: “I have to suspend her from the ceiling, twirl her, and keep plates spinning the whole time!”  Today, if she is tired enough she shakes her head and will tug at her ear, actually ripping at her hair if she isn’t processed to sleep in time.  I am glad the battle usually ends there, because I am fairly certain that stage is followed by head spinning and vomit.

Needless to say, the first months with a newborn are hard enough, but with a stubborn baby, you’re schooled fast and hard on patience and tolerance.  Even after a beginning like that, it’s not any easier to maintain your patience.  It’s still a shame she can’t just settle herself and is so tense about sleep at times.  I just don’t understand why the girl fights sleep so much, or why babies in general do for that matter?  It’s like, REALLY?  You’re FIGHTING it?? I EMBRACE it…with a big old French kiss and a postcoital cigarette!  Bring it on!  I wish I could have someone rock me off to dreamland every day.  I wish I was encouraged to nap and sleep for long periods of time! 

I have to admit, though, I think my daughter got her difficulties from me honestly.  I have never been one to be out “when my head hits the pillow” as the saying goes.  I generally will lay there and toss and turn for an average of 30 minutes to an hour most nights before my mind will give in to sleep, sometimes longer when my schedule is way off.  Even though it takes me awhile to get on my way, once I arrive, I don’t’ want to check out!  So, my daughter is possibly going to be the same way.   The poor girl.  It is an annoyance.  It does jip me out of a lot of could-be valuable sleep time.  I wonder how many of your children’s sleep habits are inherited from you if they are at all and how many are socially learned.  My mother said I tossed and turned a lot in my sleep when I was a child.  Celie tosses and turns so much in her sleep and is such a light sleeper also; she just always has been since she was a baby.

The required steps in the “Dream Dance” can be at times overwhelming and at others exhausting!  Some nights are better than others, obviously, as with all of parenthood, it just depends on how long it takes you that night.  I think rocking babies out would be an interesting and really challenging Olympic sport!  I mentioned all of the bouncing, shushing, humming, swaying, patting, spinning, balancing.  After most or all of these steps are employed, you can start to test the grounds.  There is always the telling “Arm Drop Test” for getting babies to bed.  I do this…but there are really two or more stages.  The first ADT is administered after her breathing has changed for the first time, to see if she will in fact LET her arm be dropped down, because to pass the FIRST round of the ADT, she just needs to let the arm go.  At this point, some children will be out, but not my little Celie.  She will open her eyes and stir even if her arm seems to be dropping on its own.  At this point her body has just begun to accept sleep, but her mind still won’t have it. 

The second round of the ADT can be administered after her breathing has changed for a second time and she has seemed to have changed the sucking pattern on her bink.  When her eyes and face are no longer disturbed by the dropping arm---PASS!  Alright!  Tonight she passed both ADT’s and after waiting the appropriate amount of “settling” time I had risen with her in my arms, preparing for the transfer to crib.  A song on my play list happened to be ending at that moment and, although she was “a sleep” she was not “asleep”.  She brought one hand up to my chest and patted it against me in a half clap and let out a weak and tired “yaaa”, as it is her custom to applaud at the end of a song.  What a heart tug.  That's my girl.  I had to smile and laugh and sink back into the rocker.  Rock and pat again.  This kid astounds me!  Her stamina is amazing.  She is basically half unconscious REALLY at this point but I want her to accept her crib willingly when I put her in it.  Although I will at times let her cry, I have never been one to let her “cry it out”, so this was perhaps the second time I had put her into her room and got her back out again.

She generally falls to sleep in my arms still probably 60% of the time.  The other part of the time I rock her and put her in a lulled, sleepy state into her crib where her eyes may even open as you lay her down, but she is able to escort herself to the Land of Nod. Given, I have to let her run herself ragged before she is even capable of settling for bed, but after they get so tired, it's for their own good (and safety) that you aggressively try to put them to sleep.  Toddlers are such horrible "drunks" when they are faced with exhaustion, aren't they?  No matter how many times they fall, they simply will not stop until they are good and ready. 

Although I still am hearing her stir from time to time, the Dream Dance seems to have worked its magic for now.  I know I have a long road ahead of me on the sleep department with this child, but at least we can agree on the Mazzy Star for now.  Fade Into You has come back around.  The kid has good taste, at least. “Yaa” indeed, little one.  Good night, baby girl. 

- Musing Mama

November Blog #2: "Self Check-Me-Out!"

 So, I was at the grocery store today and all of the lines were full and I wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible.  I wasn’t in an incredible hurry, but the lines were annoying me and I decided to give the self check out line a try once again.  SIDENOTE:  SCO and I met for the first time one Christmas Eve, an excruciating encounter which left me questioning the exact practicality of such a service.  I have, though, since used it on occasion, usually when I only have a couple of items and want to check out quickly.  With such occasions I have found that when used with only a moderate amount of items, it does seem practical.  There is, however, really a spectrum of inconvenience vs. convenience when it comes to the Self Check-Out, it seems.  This begs the question:

IS the Self-Check-Out line at the grocery store REALLY quicker?

I guess like everything it would depend on circumstances.  At times, its purpose can be put to proper use and you can buzz in and out with relative speed, having a ball playing cashier, because, let’s face it, it’s fun when you aren’t the one bagging and swiping all day.  It doesn’t seem, though, very practical when you have a large amount of items, especially ones that are unmarked or of the produce variety, because from personal experience, problems of patience can arise. 

Any mother can tell you that the act of shopping alone has the potential to be trying on your patience enough as it is.  (Unless, of course, you should happen to find yourself kid free on a spree with an unlimited credit card that is billed to someone else!)  At this point, my 14 month old daughter seems to enjoy shopping even more than I do, mind you, but she also chooses to spend most of our browsing and selecting time playing the pick up game.  I am usually able to successfully fend her off with odd items I approve of her playing with at the store that will be stimulating, safe, and unbreakable.  (Today she eyed up and I gave her a kiddy bowl with a pig head lid that resembles a pig plate she has at home).  After keeping her at bay and locating all of our needs, I just wanted to get out of there as soon as possible like most moms on a mission.  On a whim, I opted for the self check out line.  The first two lanes were in use, but a cashier who was packing bags at lane 3 told me lane 4 was open.  Aha!  I’ll take it. 

Today I had a modestly full cart.  I needed just a “few things” as I told my sister, which was true; I was only planning on getting mainly the baby’s bananas, yogurt, and milk, but we ALL know where that leads, right?  (Which is exactly why in our home Wal-Mart is jokingly referred to as, among other more blatantly insulting names, “THE [hundred] DOLLAR STORE”).  But even after adding in a few impulse buys and some last minute memory-sparked necessities, I was still able to keep today’s purchase comfortably shy of $100. 

I starting scanning everything through and worked on bagging it simultaneously while my sister helped stimulate the baby with a viddy at the tabloids.   For the last part of the check out she was helping me scan items and I was bagging everything up.  We were down to the last two items: a small houseplant and a whole rotisserie chicken.  My sister scanned the plant and put it on the belt and the thing for some reason sent it back multiple times in a belt line dance I have never seen before.  Long story short, it ended up ringing up the plant 4 times.  The self check out assistant/bagger/cashier extraordinaire came over to assist us, putting her code in and all that good stuff.  I watched her punch into the system and go to remove the multiples.  She removed one, but it only voided single items at a time, so she had to remove the other 3 the same way.  She went to go through the process again and ended up accidentally choosing to void my entire transaction!  I could have crapped. 

It was immediately apparent how incredibly bad the cashier felt.  She put her hand over her mouth and literally gasped “I’m so sorry”.  I had no choice but to laugh about the situation.  I think the poor girl apologized to me possibly 38 times throughout the entire experience.   

There was, obviously, no other choice but to remove everything from the bagging area where I had already bagged everything, and scan it all over again.  I reassured her it was not a big deal and not to worry about it, but would appreciate some help with the matter.  We decided she would re-bag and I would re-scan.  It was nice I had my sister with me to occupy the baby while we went through it a first and second time, though.  Meanwhile, the cashier continued to apologize to me over and over again.  She said she was already having a bad day so I told her it was a good thing it happened with me then instead of someone that was in a real hurry and would give her a hard time about it.  “That’s a good way to look at it, I guess” I told her.  I meant it to make her feel better, because it was obvious she felt like an ass, but I’m afraid she may have taken it the wrong way. 

What the cashier and I both found odd about the mishap was that the system didn’t even ask the girl if she was sure that she wanted to void the entire transaction.  We’re continuously asked on most programs, “Are you sure you want to delete?”  I felt bad for her, because it really wasn’t a big deal to me, just one of those humorous pain in the ass kind of things that you can laugh (or blog) about later.  She felt worse than I did, I’m sure. 

All in all, this encounter with the inconveniently convenient Self Check-Out Line was definitely better than that first Christmas Eve’s.  The cashier wasn’t required for every other item scanned this time and I wasn’t in the rush and stress of the holiday season.  I wasn’t a mama yet at the time either.  That cashier girl is lucky; if all of those stressors were stacked together at the same time against her, this may have been a less passive blog. Haah. 

[ What has been your experience with the Self Check-Out Line?   ]

November Blog #1: "Write On!"

So, for whatever reason, mainly I suppose to stoke up the fires of my creativity, I have chosen to do my best to participate in BlogHer’s November NaBloPoMo blogging event.  That is, National Blog Posting Month.  I think it’s an interesting challenge.  I have wanted to blog more often, and forcing myself to blog once a day for a month will definitely help get me going.  Should be interesting.  As per BlogHer’s November 1^st prompt, here is a rant considering the question:  “What is your favorite part of writing?”

I can’t be sure as to what my favorite specific part of writing is, so I suppose I will try to come to a conclusion by doing what is definitely one of the great parts of writing…letting it flow.  Venting and letting it all out, the cathartic aspect of writing, is one of the best things about it, but is it my favorite?  Maybe.  OR maybe it's the compelling feeling I have to do it?   I couldn't imagine if I couldn't express myself in writing.  Maybe it’s the versatility?  You can do it pretty much anywhere.  I’m typing this up a day late on the computer because I was left without power last night, but in the candlelight I could still write…and play the guitar.  Old timey style candle lit song and musings.  Words and music.  There’s something so warm about that; even though I was reduced to candle for warmth and light, and perhaps even company to a degree, I was pretty “snuggly” on this evening.  I played some guitar and worked on viddying myself for a post on ye olde YouTube’s, wrote a little with some power-outage-induced reflection, and talked to Omega…the betta fish.  He had a candle all his own for warmth in the night also. I digress. 

Writing comes and goes, but it always is and always comes back, if that makes any sense.  Writing can have seasons.  I either get in a rut, or am inspired beyond words, but it is still always there waiting to emerge, waiting for the light of my attention.  If I take a break, I find it again.  Writing has been a constant, I suppose, in my life that has carried me through everything I have been through.  Somehow if I could express myself in words, all was not lost.  I find my writing is my “Footprints”, carrying me through the difficult times.  I seem to write more when I am lost or distraught, I guess searching if you will.  To me, writing is a cathartic expression; a flow of thought; a time to be reflective with the self.  At times, depending on what you are doing, I believe writing can even be a spiritual event. There are tales of automatic writing.  Writing is communication, regardless of realm, whether it be inside your head or out. 

Writing truly is an art form.  I also greatly enjoy practicing my “word-smithing” and synergy.  Working along with someone on some lyrics or some other common literary goal stimulates critical thinking, and becomes a puzzle of sorts with the goal of completion.  When you are matched up with the right partner and the energy is good, the words seem to flow easier than anything. 

Writing is a way of sharing yourself.  You express what is inside and you in turn share this with others (if you choose).  Either way, the release is there.  You don’t need an audience, though some people benefit from it.  It’s all good. 

It is hard, indeed, to choose one part of writing that is my favorite.  The physical aspect of writing alone, on tablet, book, sheet…pen to page…is joyful.  There are few things quite like the initial drag of the ball point across a fresh white page, like the first brush stroke of an artist on an open canvas.  Endless possibilities.  I am the creator. 

What is my favorite part of writing?  Me.  Writing is a part of me; therefore, I am a part of writing.  We all, writers and bloggers alike, are a part of writing.  It's a part of us.  Hell, we created it.  We have simply always felt compelled to create on that blank page, to bring something out into the physical, to…write.  Too right.  Right on.  Write.On. 

Me to You,

Missie Sue