New Blank Document

Why are these the three scariest words in the English language? At least for a writer, a blocked writer, they are. For months, years actually, I've been avoiding the act of writing. I used to participate in writing classes at the Writer's Center in Bethesda, a truly great place for fledgling artists -- creative non-fiction, poetry, humor writing, memoir. I've even participated in writing groups that formed out of these classes. So why am I not writing now? Well, it's hard, for one thing. But that's not it. I think there are two better reasons than the difficulty of writing. One is that I don't know what to write about. I always feel that what I have to say has been heard before, totally forgetting that people LIKE to read about subjects they can relate to. The other reason is that I'm afraid to delve deeply into sensitive areas. There I've said it. A writer has to be breathtakingly, boldly honest, or the work will come across as shallow, uninteresting, quite ordinary. You have to touch the reader's heart and not be afraid to touch your own. There is nothing more intimidating than a blank piece of paper or a blank computer screen. But I'm going to try. Wish me luck!

The Tree of Life

What was it that I was saying about how things can change on a dime? On Thursday, May 23, nothing changed except that my husband was almost killed by a falling oak tree. At least he could have been killed if he hadn't decided to run into the house just when he did. He had been waiting out the last of the rain in a raging storm that swept through our area. Like I said, "nothing" changed except our realization of how precious life is and how quickly it might have been gone. Yes, our houses were slightly damage, yes, Bruce's car was totaled, but that is nothing compared with what might have been. Now we're just sitting here, feeling grateful. The next day a horde of trucks and zealous workers descended on our property and whisked away the offending tree. Now all that's left is the stump with the asphalt it lifted up hanging from the roots and about 12 feet of what was once a beautiful oak tree. Oh yes, a Bruce's beloved Toyota Camry, squashed, sitting there as a reminder that things can change on a dime . . . or less. Tomorrow it will be towed away out of our sight, but we'll remember what that day might have brought.

THIS AGING THING

THIS AGING THING For a long time we just ignore it, right? We go along, caught in our daily routines, losing track of the months and years that are literally flying by. Then one day it hits. I'm old. Let's see, how do I know that? Well, for one thing, I don't have the energy I once had. An hour or two of gardening with all its bending and stooping and pulling out weeds is enough. I can't push myself to go all day. Another thing: I can't be with friends, even friends I adore, all day long, constantly chattering. More and more, I need quiet time. Alone time. And perhaps worst of all, family members and friends keep getting sick and dying. It is the way of the world, I know, and not unexpected as I am now in my late 70's, but hard to take nonetheless. Our worlds are closing in on us. More and more, there is less and less I can do. My husband and I used to love going sailing for a week or two on Chesapeake Bay. Now we sail, but only with younger friends who gallantly share the load. We are very uch aware of our diminished strength, balance and stamina. Riding a bike? Maybe not. In recent years, my body has not wanted to execute right turns. I have no idea why this is. Driving at night? Less and less comfortable, though I still do it, but only in familiar places. Dinner at a favorite restaurant? Maybe not. Too noisy. What's the pleasure in sharing dinner with a friend if you can't hear them, or they you? So do I spend all my time whining like I've just been doing? Hell no, I count my blessings. My health, despite a few setbacks along the way, is wonderful. I am blessed with an adoring husband and loving sons. I have a bevy of stalwart female friends. I'm always finding new interests. But . . . she went on . . . it can all change on a dime. Which brings me back to the question of whether to move to a retirement community or not. I'm quite adept at listing the pros and cons of making such a move. The question is will I (we, actually) have the guts to decide or will we simply live out our lives in comfort, in old familiar surroundings? Stay tuned.