A person would think I had lost my interest in blogging for all the posts I am not writing these days. I mildly protest and do deny it ... I have not lost interest, I have not abandoned my beautiful blog, despite certain evidence indicating otherwise. So, what IS happening then, you ask; if you have not given up on blogging, then what?
It's like this ... I have been focusing my attention and pouring my heart into another writing project. And, I find when that's going on, at the end of the day, there never seems to be enough energy or words left over to create a decent post here. Believe me, I've tried -- you wouldn't want to see the accumulated false starts sitting in draft mode.
As you may recall from recent posts, I celebrated my 60th birthday this spring, and months prior, fully aware the event was drawing nigh, there came a full-blown wish yearning to gather up my childhood memories and life experiences. Since a teen, I have been chronicling my journey, but turning 60 seemed a good time to sort through the boxes of memorabilia, old scrapbooks, myriad photo albums, and dozens of old diaries and journals to tie up loose ends, put things in order, and set it down properly on paper. I understand God keeps such a book of each of our lives; I wanted to write one from my own point of view and how I saw the world growing up and what I thought about it all.
“A day will come when the story inside you will want to breathe on its own.
That’s when you’ll start writing.”
~ Sarah Noffke
I also wanted to clear out space in my home -- my closets and shelves -- not to mention in my mind, to make room for possible new pursuits and interests. If I glean the useful bits and pieces from these carefully stored reminders and finally write the story out, whether in a more private, personal document or in several books to share further afield, then I can finally discard them without too much trauma for The Chronicler, who is loathe to throw treasures like that out, and she certainly doesn't want me to forget any of the important stuff.
Agatha Christie's most enjoyable 500-page autobiography took her fifteen years to write. She was 60 when she started. She said, "What I plan to do is to enjoy the pleasures of memory--not hurrying myself--writing a few pages from time to time." I've decided to sort of follow suite, except I don’t plan to take 15 years to write my own stories -- I don't have any mysteries to write in between -- and I can't imagine needing 500 pages to say what I need to say. Even so, it's a much bigger task than I first anticipated. By the way, did you know that Maya Angelou wrote seven autobiographies in her lifetime? Perhaps a person can never really know how much it will take to mine the lessons learned from one's experiences.
"There was another life that I might have had,
but I am having this one.”
~ Kasuo Ishiguro
I don't think I ever told you that my life did not turn out the way I dreamed it would as a girl growing up. All my life, I imagined the day when I would meet my prince charming, fall in love, get married, create a home where we would raise a family, and build a lifetime of traditions and memories together. There was no doubt in my mind that it wouldn't come to pass; yet for all the hoping, it did not happen that way at all. I didn't meet my prince charming until I was forty, we didn't have kids, and we each already had many of our own traditions and memories not mutually shared.
As for writing the memoir of this part of the journey, which has been in the back of my mind for ages and for which I have the first draft, I finally came to see I had to live a longish life before I could write about how I found my beautiful life, in spite of those disappointments, first as a single woman for twenty years, and then as a happily married wife, daughter, sister, aunt.
As you can imagine, sorting through 60 years worth of memorabilia is a huge undertaking. But I'm having lots of fun with so many memories flying upward like butterflies (see post for earlier reference They Flew Out Like Butterflies); my study is a veritable habitation for these vintage creatures.
So, my dear beautiful friends, that's what I'm up to these days ... unpacking the memories of a life lived thus far. And not blogging much.
Let me say, I will still post at least once or twice a month; I will get really homesick for you otherwise. I hope you bear with me as I work away on this new '60' project over the months to come.
As for writing the memoir of this part of the journey, which has been in the back of my mind for ages and for which I have the first draft, I finally came to see I had to live a longish life before I could write about how I found my beautiful life, in spite of those disappointments, first as a single woman for twenty years, and then as a happily married wife, daughter, sister, aunt.
As you can imagine, sorting through 60 years worth of memorabilia is a huge undertaking. But I'm having lots of fun with so many memories flying upward like butterflies (see post for earlier reference They Flew Out Like Butterflies); my study is a veritable habitation for these vintage creatures.
So, my dear beautiful friends, that's what I'm up to these days ... unpacking the memories of a life lived thus far. And not blogging much.
Let me say, I will still post at least once or twice a month; I will get really homesick for you otherwise. I hope you bear with me as I work away on this new '60' project over the months to come.
Sending you love and good wishes
for a beautiful rest of the summer,
Hugs,
Brenda
♥♥♥
PS. I still create spontaneous, tiny posts with lots of pictures
on my Facebook page. You are most welcome to join me there.
