Category Archives: creative

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Family Circus (continued)

It was Sunday. Maddie awoke to give her son his seizure medicine and couldn’t sleep. She sat at the east window and watched the sun rise. First the glow of grey turned into yellow, then the bright white. She got up and started the coffee. She should sleep but she can’t. Too many shortened nights of sleep made her feel like she had to keep going.

The house was quiet. She liked these moments best. It gave her peace. It made her feel like she could do what she wanted. She pulled out a book she had been reading for weeks. Her library let her borrow it again and again. She was close to finishing. She opened the book and began to read.

A distant beeping cut through her concentration. The pulse oximeter sounded, beeping through her pleasure. She waited. It continued. She blinked slowly, closed her book and walked to her son’s bedroom.

He was sitting up, facing the door when his body dropped into the bed as if he lost consciousness, then sat up again and laughed. Maddie checked her watch and began timing the seizure. He was having clustered seizures and began trembling, first on the right side of his body and moving onto the rest of his body. She grabbed the magnet to magically end this torrent. Nothing changed. His body continued trembling. She reached for his other medicine, her heart rate increased. She looked at her watch and noted the time. She tore the package and put the nasal spray inside his nostril and squeezed the contents.

His body stopped moving. His eyes closed and he remained peaceful. She looked at the clock again. She began to feel the tears climb. She let them come quiet down her cheeks. She wiped her eyes, then took a deep breath. She slumped into the rocking chair, closed her eyes and listened to the house noise.

Nothing. No one but herself was awake. Everyone slept. Alone again, she slept.

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Sunday

He sat at the piano for the full length of bars and rested in his composition so that the audience could experience the amazing music in our surroundings. His composition was a form of meditation. Have you ever sat still, closed your eyes, and listened?

Try it. I dare you. I tried it and found myself feeling restless. I couldn’t feel comfortable with the silence within me. It seemed like it had no direction. I felt guilty sitting in silence. My mind drifted to many places.

Kitchen places, bedroom places, cleaning places, laundry places; then I pushed those thoughts away and went to my creative place. It seemed empty at first. A piece of paper. A pencil. A figure. Movement. It comes in puffs and spurts. As long as I linger, more comes. Just like the composition of John Cage, I start to hear the creativity of me and that around me. I feel encouraged. I can do it.

The clouds moved in causing the sky to look milky-gray. Then I hear a rumble. I run outside looked to the east, hoped for a bright flame burning through the clouds, but there was nothing. I heard the rumble, louder than before and looked to the northwest part of the sky. Nothing, but a deeper rumble. I look at my weather map app, reds, yellows, greens, but they are more than two hours away. I think about my teen son who has epilepsy. His VNS will be sending more charges because of the increased electricity in the air. Thunderstorms do that to him.

I return inside, thinking how the weather keeps us guessing. I pour myself a feel-good, wake-me-up-kind-of-coffee.

Then I sit down to write. Sometimes it comes easy. Sometimes it doesn’t come at all. Everything is a work in progress.

I’ve started reading Be, Awake, Create by Rebekah Younger, MFA. I was put in an awesome state of encouragement. She started her book with a story about John Cage. I never knew who John Cage was because he was influential before I was born. The story goes like this: He created a controversial work in 1952 called 4’33”, which was written as bars of rest. When he played it for the first time at Woodstock, the crowd became angry because they didn’t hear the composition. The clever man made the boldest statement about silence.

He sat at the piano for the full length of bars and rested in his composition so that the audience could experience the amazing music in our surroundings. His composition was a form of meditation. Have you ever sat still, closed your eyes, and listened?

Try it. I dare you. I tried it and found myself feeling restless. I couldn’t feel comfortable with the silence within me. It seemed like it had no direction. I felt guilty sitting in silence. My mind drifted to many places.

Kitchen places, bedroom places, cleaning places, laundry places; then I pushed those thoughts away and went to my creative place. It seemed empty at first. A piece of paper. A pencil. A figure. Movement. It comes in puffs and spurts. As long as I linger, more comes. Just like the composition of John Cage, I start to hear the creativity of me and that around me. I feel encouraged. I can do it. It didn’t rain.

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Still the New Year

When looking at the calendar, I find it still time for new endeavors and renewed enthusiasm for the goals made previously.

This year is an interesting start. Sometimes I think of other authors and how they journeyed towards their work. It reminds me of Charles Dickens. He wasn’t a poet in the formal sense but his prose had so much “poetry” in it.

Holiday hustle and unending bustle, I worked on achieving some zen.

Calls were made with “business as usual”, all to ensure that daily activities were not delayed by holiday hurry.

Its brilliance is the universal truth of reflection. I can’t help but think that Dickens put himself into all the stories. He had several children, and worked while in their presences. He would have to have some Scrooge-ness. His ability to hyperfocus is too much to believe. Let his example be my challenge at this traveling phantom year.

As I write, I’ve attempted writing while in the presence of family.

Qué susto! So much harder than when I’m alone. I read the same sentence two and three times. I got up from my work and came back for another attempt. Better. I wrote more. Stop. Scratched my head and twitched my mouth. The words comeback slow but sure. I think I can do this.

If Dickens did, why not I. I think with practice, I can improve on my writing schedule, utilize every time and day.

Progress makes its best success in small moments that keep occurring. Yeah that’s it.

Progress arrives with practice. …and tenacity.

Dickens and his family.
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Contentment

bible.com/bible/116/php.4.13.NLT

No matter how foggy my brain can be, I will continue to work on my goals; improving my writing, teaching and learning. Creating is essential to growth. As hard as seizing the time to sit and write may be some days. Each moment that I put pen to paper and shut my critic off, I make progress. Be content in the struggle.