Eighteen Minutes

I have 18 minutes before I have to leave to pick up the boy from daycare...oops, now 17. And instead of reading other people's blogs, or wasting time, or wasting ANYthing more, I am challenging myself to use this time. Use it, thank you, Jack London.

Blogging is difficult for me. I fear I want all my posts to have soooo much meaning. To be masterpieces. To carry a message. To affect another soul, move someone, make a difference. I start getting ideas about things I should blog about -- the woman I saw today with a young girl (Does she have a chance? Mom was on the phone, smoking a cigarette, wee girl was flitting around her like a lost satellite -- too scared to take that final step away, too young to do it alone, too fragile to be ignored. Hmmm...perhaps that's a post for another day.) -- the talks I had with two of my friends today, encouraging them separately to breathe, follow their dreams and do something daring, scary and different -- the delight of fall and the possibility of change and hope for what the future brings -- the fabulous ice cream that I had to celebrate the afternoon -- the Elizabeth Gilbert talk I listened to on the Painted Path....

It's crazy all the "blog" thoughts I've had since I officially began my life as (not just another) blogger. Down to 11 minutes now....as a writer, I've always felt the pressure of "a writer writes every day." I want to be a better writer. I am a writer. A published writer (ah the days of book reviews!). An accomplished and not quite prolific writer (but I'm working on that). Writing for my job is very different than this creative, organic work that I'm putting down here in print. And one that I think I've let narrow my creative thinking as opposed to expand it...writing copy for a client or his or her website or ad...well, let's just say it's not what I want to do forever. Writing like that (copywriting, that is) demands that you write with your head first, and just like in the movie Finding Forrester, I believe more in writing "your first draft with your heart..the first key to writing is... to write, not to think!" And I think that's the problem -- too much thinking, not enough real writing.

And so with one minute left, I won't reread, I won't re-edit, I won't rethink. I'll just write. And be proud that I did.

Indian Summer

As a full-time editor, I bow down to (read, am obsessed with) the Merriam-Webster Collegiate Dictionary. It's the one I turn to first with all my questions -- hyphen or no? One word or two? Usage? Let's check. The fact that the new B&N Nook has MWC as its programmed dictionary of choice is really one of the more convincing checks in its favor (and probably the final deciding buying factor) over Kindle. Yes, this is how much I respect this reference book.

And so, as I typed in the title for this post, I then checked the MWC entry for Indian Summer (habit? curiosity? chance? inspiration? call it what you will). Indian Summer: a period of warm or mild weather in late autumn or early winter. Of course, we knew this. What I didn't know (or had forgotten) was this -- also defined as a happy or flourishing period occurring toward the end of something. Interesting.

Thursday, Griffin and I celebrated what I'm calling this area's brief (but oh so lovely) Indian Summer. We put on our jackets, turned our faces to the sun, and took what was probably this year's final walk around the neighborhood.

It was such a glorious evening. I was a bit sad that my husband was not with us -- although he had just spent the last two days in Bermuda (swimming pools, movie stars) -- but I know he would have gladly given that up to take this final walk with us. And for some reason, I chose to take the camera -- not being the world's best photographer, and being solo trying to get Grif to sit still, look at me AND smile would have been less of a challenge if Jim had been along. But it was fun. We laughed, we looked at the leaves, we gawked at cars (mostly Grif did this), we listened to the sound of lawn mowers and summer's end.

Everything with him is so bittersweet. He makes my heart ache, and that day was no exception. He's so gorgeous, that child. So happy. It amazes me that he can inspire such overwhelming joy in my heart while bringing instant tears to my eyes with the sorrow that I miss so may of his days. I just want to scoop him up and cuddle with him forever -- he looks at you with those huge blue eyes...and then he smiles...and words don't describe how that fills my heart so full.

So, Indian Summer. The true end of summer. The nearing of the end of fall. Winter is coming...and yet this time for me is full, so full of the new things that the boy can do every day -- his new discoveries, his new sounds, I see so much through his eyes (and in his eyes).

A happy or flourishing period occurring toward the end of something...I'm nearing the end of my first year of working full-time with a child (and hopefully nearing the end of this as well -- my official plea to the Universe to help me be able to soon work part-time instead). We've passed the end of his first year of life...nearing the end of this first new year full of the crazy days and long nights of a life changed (so completely, so wholly) by this boy. Nearing the end of what I would probably officially call his "babyhood." Nearing the end of so many "firsts." Nearing the end with (hopefully) grace, a little more patience, a few tears (of course) and complete wonder for what comes next. Happy? Decidedly. Flourishing? Every day. But oh so bittersweet. And as a mother (and a lover of words), I think bittersweet does just as well in defining Indian Summer. A wee bit bitter (endings always are) but so very, very sweet.

Time, more time!

Now more than ever, I feel the pressure of time. If only I had one more day to...if only I had time to...if only I had a few more hours so I could just...it's annoying and slightly anxiety-inducing to feel myself so pressured by time. This blog is the perfect example of this -- I should have started it long (long) ago, and I know I kept just thinking that "tomorrow" would always come, and of course, be the better day to start....

I wish I had more time with my son, Griffin. I wish I had more time with my husband, Jim. More time to workout, more time to read, more time to be one of those (enviable) people who sits at the Coffee Emporium (or Starbucks or fill-in-your-cozy-cool-coffee-hangout-of-choice) and appears to be loftily creating masterpieces on their laptops. More time to put songs on my ipod. To get the boy's 1st year baby book together. To write thank you notes. To say thanks.

I wish I had more time to write. To tell  the important people in my life that they are, in fact, important in my life. More time for church. More time for me. Moremoremoremore. Funny how selfish that seems when it's put down in black and white.

Perhaps the lesson is the question of  "what is time? It's not like it means anything" (oh yes, for you nearly-forty-somethings, if you dig deep, you may remember this line from Some Kind of Wonderful. I think. Time gets away from me, so I don't have time to check just now...). I don't wear a watch. I try to celebrate the time I am in now. To use my time. Funny, that could be the entire theme of this blog, and oddly enough, in my rush to get this out -- no time, no time! -- I somehow missed that. Sigh.

What else am I missing? This time, perhaps I'll take a minute to find out. To breathe. To relax -- and yes, revel -- in the time right now, and nothing more. Cuz this life is beautiful. And right now, if nothing else, I'm taking the time to say thanks for that. And although you didn't know it, couldn't see it (but could you feel it?), I took the time just now -- a quiet minute, a thought-provoking silence -- to just smile. And be happy. In this time.

And so it begins...

After much procrastination, too much forced disinterest, followed closely by way too much effort (and time spent) on the template, the colors, the layout (don't even get me started on the title!), I have finally started something I should have done long, long ago.

What's the point, you may ask? I'm a writer. I'm a mom. I'm a wife. I have so much belief in our world, our universe, and so much passion about my place (and my journey) in (through) it. This is the place where I hope to comment, create, celebrate those things. And possibly -- just maybe -- encourage someone else out there in this great place to come along for the ride. My ride.

And so it begins -- simple, short, but a beginning nonetheless.