four children + green dreams + recipes + story writing + running wild + (sanity) = where you'll find me
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Take care, make way, stand still
Life is about taking care of what you've got.
And it's about making way for new things, too.
I'm pleased to report that our vehicle has been returned to us, after a week in the repair shop. After doing some serious number crunching, we've decided to keep it for now, although ideally we'd love to be driving a smaller, more fuel-efficient vehicle. Put it on the wish list. (Speaking of which: we've got one of those hanging on the fridge from the fall of 2011, and our wishes now look wildly out of date; most of them didn't come true, and we find ourselves no longer wishing for those things. Curious, huh.)
I'm also pleased to report that my manuscript has left the house. I've put it into the good hands of my agent, whom I trust to tell me yea or nay, or some combination thereof. It will be awhile before she gets a chance to read it, and I'm grateful for the mental break. My writing days were getting obsessional in the extreme toward the end of the editing process, and it's a relief to have space.
I would like to tell you more about where I'm at, right now.
I am standing in the middle of a wide field. I am looking at everything that surrounds me, and it is filled with possibility and potential, and vivid striations of colour and texture and weather. I could turn and walk to the east, to the west, to the south, to the north, or even to explore in a curving, meandering, curious path that does not follow any one direction. I am waiting. I am weighing. I am listening. I am gathering clues. I am open. I am not afraid of stepping the wrong way. I know there are many ways to explore this field. There are many rich and rewarding destinations. Fortune will call me, one way or another, and I will go.
I'll tell you when I start moving. But for now, I'm quite still.
I'm mother of four, writer, dreamer, planner, runner, photographer, taking time for a cup of coffee in front of this computer screen. My days are full, yet I keep asking: how can I fill them just a little bit more
-- with depth, with care, with pleasure.