I have been doing a lot of gathering lately, collecting thoughts.

And then there are long waves and short waves of anxiety and worry and sadness, then hopefulness.

When I start to freeze within or around the edgings of the first three, I have to move my mind and my body.

I have to be hopeful because I have to be.

Reading:

I just finished the book Fierce Attachments by Vivian Gornick. There is sex/love, identity, attachments themes within it, and I fell in love with the writing.

“True, explosive behavior was common among us while tender comfort was a difficulty, but it was Mama who had plunged us into muteness.”

“With me they did as they pleased. Passing me among themselves in ecstasy of ritual pity, they isolated me more thoroughly than actual neglect could have done. They smothered me against their chests, choked me with indigestible food, terrified my ears with a babble of numbing reassurance. My only hope was retreat. I went unresponsive, and I stayed away.”

“Sexual malice ran so deep in her it was an essence: primitive, calculating, stubborn; enraged at the center; made reckless by some burning imperative that pushed against a shifting outer limit, wholly determined by how bad she felt about herself and her life on any given week”

“I am standing on the avenue,” she tells me, “waiting for the light to change, and a little girl, maybe seven years old, was standing next to me. All of a sudden, before the light changed, she stepped out into the street. I pulled her back onto the sidewalk and I said to her, ‘Darling, never never cross on the red. Cross only on the green.’ The kid looks at me with real pity and she says, ‘Lady, you’ve got it upside down.’

“That kid’s not going to make it eight,” I say.

“Just what I was thinking.” My mother laughs.

This writing, this kind of writing, doesn’t happen overnight.

“Her faded brown eyes, dark and brilliant in my childhood, brighten as the meaning of her words and mine penetrates her thought.”

I have done some writing:

“I was the kid who absorbed all the words; all her words. They would touch my skin then my heart. I took them in and absorbed all of her cries until I had to shut them down.”

“He had that look.” She meant the look when he drank too much. I knew that look. The whites of his eyes elongated where the circle of blood thickened, and his pupils enlarged and became pierced.”

“Clocks. When sitting alone, I am hyperaware of clocks. The ticking of clocks. The size, volume, and the rhythm they keep. We had two grandfather clocks in our house. Every fifteen minutes it chimed, a higher pitch than the half-hour chime. Then the big masterful chime – its own clock-worked song on the hour, every hour. Both of the grandfather clocks in sync, perfect pitch on time.”

“I remember sitting on my mom’s lap; I was four years old. I watched her pick her hair. Remember when people used to “pick” their hair, like fluff it in the 80s dramatic way. Spritz it with hairspray afterward. She didn’t do the fluff. She instead took the pointy ends of the pick and pushed them on her scalp and moved it back and forth slightly. Her scalped itched because she hadn’t washed her hair in days. It had a shine of grease like black oil.

Are you going to wash your hair?” I asked.  Her eyes shot at me. She put her pick down on the side table, picked me up readily, and got up and walk away.

A coolness went up my arms and down my legs. I stood there cold. My whole body clutched, knowing I should not have asked. Yet knowing how she upholds honesty, ‘I hate liars.’ She needed to wash her hair.”

It’s fun to play.

“Here I am” – what do I want to say?

I have been watching the Highlights Foundation webinars. I don’t always catch them when they are live, but I make a point to watch later.

I rewatched one today because it just makes me feel better. I will post it below.  These are just good heartfelt voices and words to listen to and take in.

A conversation between Sarah Aronson and Padma Venkatraman.  I have met Padma twice and have two of her beautiful books. Her writing, her books are mentor books for me. I turned to them to help find my words.

This is gathered around Heart and Story. 

Creativity, curiosity, and community.

“During this time especially you want to write things that make you happy; feed your soul; that means something to us.” Sarah

“Keep this life you have been given as precious and nurturing as possible” – Padma

“Joy in the fall of adversity –
connection, community
jokes –
weeping, commenced
how we want to live our lives as people.” – Sarah.

When self-pity comes, make it short in life and in your writing, make it short. We get it. – Padma

They talked about “Memory Maps” – a great tool. – Sarah

Map out places, physically take out a pencil or pen and paper and map out a place.

– a schoolyard,
– a room, your room
– your first floor

– and draw out your memories, write them “Sarah had her first kiss at the mailbox.” And just write about those memories. Have fun with those memories. Play. Who had I been? What was important to me? What was my hair like? The color? Did I hate oranges then, or just the tart of apples?

For a picture template, a full 32 page template check out Debbie Ohi. She has a great template. Where is your arc within those 32 pages?

I haven’t done this yet. Curious.

“His body
long and muscular. Back perfectly straight
A dancer’s body
His hair
a sheet of midnight. Sleek, shiny, shoulder length
His eyes
pools of honey. Deep brown, flecked with gold.”
– Padma – A Time To Dance

Keep your hearts warm and safe.

Look at these wonderful, creative, nerdy people – aren’t they great!