Part of the creative writing process is rewriting an idea or scene. In my previous post about Spain, I don’t think I captured the visual I had wanted. I mentioned too many things when really I wanted to describe one picture. Like looking at a photograph.
Imagine a palm tree small enough to wrap its leaves around two human lovebirds, like arms hugging. Around the tree is perfectly mowed, crayola green grass that sits like a blanket underneath the couple. A gentle breeze blows the girl’s fringe away from her face, revealing a giggly affectionate love for her partner. His arms are wrapped around a very used guitar, fingers plucking a melody. His eyes look down shyly as he begins to sing Spanish words, soft like a whisper, exclusive for her hearing. As I catch a glimpse of this scene, and imprint it permanently in mind, I swear that palm tree is in the shape of a heart.
PS after seeing this in Spain I was even more sure I would marry a guitarist myself one day!
Beach. Waves. Trees. Statues. Grass. Waterfall. Stone steps. KFC. Balcony. Cobblestone. Guitarist. Sun. Mom. Artifacts. Flowers.
I have no proof that I was in Spain. I took no pictures, bought only four small souvenirs, two of which were postcards, but I was there. With my mom. It was the UK Mother’s Day 2005 and we flew to Barcelona for the weekend. The first day we headed straight to the beach, despite the cold weather, we sat there in our coats listening to the waves for over an hour. I have no idea what my mom was thinking but her expression showed real content and I was glad to have brought her. Its amazing how listening to water clears your head. Water cleans and clears your body and mind. Although we were in Spain, we chose KFC for dinner. The next day was the best ever. With my library borrowed Barcelona tourist book in hand, we walked over an hour away from the Las Ramblas and found THE park. The one I will never forget. Plus perfect green grass, a romantic mini palm tree shading a guitarist playing to his girl, trees everywhere, flowers and beautiful bushes. Sunshine welcoming spring. The atmosphere was surreal. Kids kicking a hackey sack laughing and joking in Spanish. A couple holding hands, the breeze blowing the girl’s hair out of her face. Around the other side of the park was a stone sculpture at the top of very worn stone steps and there we stood amongst the crowd watching a waterfall. Water cascading into a small pond, the droplets glisten like floating diamonds. The greenery and stone all around the perfect accompaniment. As I sit here and think back to those events and images I just want to go back. I have to go back. My excuse? I need proof.
I remember in my high school English class, our teacher made us write an essay every week. I loved it. We paired up and chose a topic she had on the board. We learned the skeleton of a properly written essay. The attention grabber first sentence, the thesis sentence that explains what is going to be said, the transitional sentences from one paragraph to the next, the summary and closing. The transitional sentences were the highlight because it was a challenge to make one subject smoothly flow into the next. It made me think of how my mom is a pro at changing subjects during conversations when something comes up that she doesn’t want to talk about. Just as there are transitions in essays, this morning I was reflecting on transitions in life that are also a challenge.
I separate huge events in my life not into chapters, but rather into lifetimes because that is how it feels like to me. So far, I have lived four and am in my fifth. This lifetime is the beginning of my motherhood and housewife years. I do not know how long this lifetime will last, I never do.
The transition of being someone ambitious with a degree, ready to start a career, a plan of how to acheive goals, suddenly changed to someone who was deathly sick for months on end, growing a baby, and then the baby comes and dealing with all the highs and lows of experiencing motherhood for the first time.
This has been my biggest transition and challenge. Everything changes. In a big way. He is now almost 6 months old, and I thought it would get easier, but it doesn’t. This transition is permanent, and probably should not be dubbed a transition any longer. When is the point where I am used to being a mom? And why is it that being a mom is supposed to be the most important job in the world but I have moments where I feel like the most insignificant person on the planet?
I am living a transition, a big challenging change, entering a new lifetime and as always, trying to make the best of it.
It dawned on me this morning as I held Ethan, looked into his eyes, felt the warmth of love envelope my heart, that everyone in this world was once a precious newborn baby. Helpless and completely reliant on the adults to show them how to live and survive. So sad to think that someone so innocent and sweet and loving could grow up criminal. It is heartbreaking. I love my baby so much and wish for all the babies that come into this world to have loving arms to welcome them. Mothers try to do their best to teach integrity but everyone has to choose their path. ‘Hope’ now has a completely new meaning. God bless the innocent and the lost.
Finally packed away Christmas and can’t help but notice the empty feeling it leaves. Christmas always brings warmth and a homey feel, perhaps an underlying reason is because the Spirit of the season is being more invited than normal. Extra green, gold and red decorations, stockings with snowmen, cookies for Santa, the nativity scene set up on the table, a lit up pine tree with a star and my husband’s favorite: the mistletoe. Either way, I already miss it.
Although I have only written a few posts, I know I mentioned that there is a novel in the making. Truth is, here I am a year and a half later with little progress since that post. Should I give up? This project has been in the back of my head for years. I have had about 20 or more different ideas of how to approach the story. Am I the only one who is this bad? I will follow through and one day it will be finished! I have hope. In fact, once I am done with this post, I am logging onto Word!
Gaps in goals, gaps in events in our lives, gaps in writing, gaps in communicating, keeping in touch, and gaps within ourselves when we don’t feel quite whole for whatever the reason. My gap in this blog has not been an entirely bad thing. Since my last post, I have become a post grad and a mother! Trying to balance my life and fill in gaps. Gaps, say it out loud a few times. What a funny word. Gaps.