Tuesday, December 11, 2012

Clamoring... (SOLS)

The pages are still blank, but there is a miraculous feeling of the words being there,
written in invisible ink and clamoring to become visible. 
~Vladimir Nabakov

So much has happened in past few months since I've stepped away from physically blogging...  Grant Parker made his way into our family on November 1.  My recovery from surgery this time wasn't as slick as the first -- I'll blame that on my advancing age.  (After all, I'm 3.5 years older than I was the first time around!)  We're knee-deep into the terrible threes, in conjunction with the adjustment to not being "the only" anymore.  We've all had the stomach flu -- each of us, in our own way -- except Grant, thankfully.  And, all the while, Grant sleeps.  We've been blessed with one calm little kiddo.

Because right now it seems like I'm much better at rehearsing my writing than actually sitting down to do it, I have a soiree of stories swirling around in my mind and clamoring to become visible.  Most of them have to do with adjustment.  I have pieces I really care about that I just can't seem to get down.  I can't find the words.

Like the one about my 90-year old paternal grandmother walking into our new kitchen when she came to meet Grant, asking through a needy gaze if I like my dishwasher...only to reveal upon my answer that she's never had one.  Astonishing, considering she is one of Williams-Sonoma's biggest fans and has made her life baking pies and accumulating cooking gadgetry.  I didn't realize...

And, then there is one about my maternal grandmother asking me recently if I have two sons.  This, my grandmother, my 'with-it' grandmother -- wondering about who is in my family.  Her rapidly changing memory is crushing.  My spunky grandmother, the one I once had so much in common with, is now milquetoast and moving to assisted living.  Which, leaves me with one thought: when will she not remember me?

And, of course there is Reid.  Reid, the polite and loving child...the one who loves music and listening to lyrics as much as I do.  We were singing "Our House" together the other day (a.k.a. our family anthem).  When we got to the part about the "sunshine through them fiery gems for you, only for you," he pointed to me, looking straight into my soul -- 'only for you' his eyes softly spoke.  He saw me there in the song; he saw me there in the unusual quietness of our house and we enjoyed the moment.  I think he misses those mommy moments...

Evidently, Nobakov sees into my soul, too.  There are stories there.  Big, meaningful stories that I want to write.  Big, meaningful events that are changing my life one instance at a time that I want to remember, whether about how my grandparents age or about how my children form our family.  Memories that feather my heart's nest.  Memories that change me.  Lucy Calkins says, "I write to hold what I find in my life in my hands and to declare it a treasure…significance cannot be found, it must be grown.  Significance is found in our daily minutiae.  I want to remember.  I want to cherish by writing.

Well, for now, my writing is on my heart and in my mind...instead of on my laptop or in my writer's notebook.  I'm fiddling with my words...how to convey my thoughts...how to share their meaning.  Sometimes when I sit down to have a go, I get sidetracked.  By perfection.  By creating a piece that is worthy of its subject.  But the truth is, I just need to write. 

The words will come. 
They'll be significant. 
They'll be visible.

Write on,