So it's been nearly a year since my last post to the European Adventures blog. And recently I've been itching - yet inhibited - to start writing again as a way to document life, sort out thoughts, get creative, and think on the page. Perhaps I'm also fearing the loss of my written forté as I drift farther and farther from the schooled life that once consumed me.
Where am I now? Well, currently sitting in my half-piled queen-sized bed, contemplating my rumbling tummy, madrigal books, and yet-to-be-started application for food stamps.
Where am I in the larger scheme of things? That depends on whether one asks the question philosophically, informationally, or practically. On the earthly level, I am just over half way finished with an AmeriCorps term of service with Hands On Greater Portland, as the Partner Services Coordinator. I am near broke, and somewhat anxious about it, but in the long run, not too worried (for better or for worse). Thanks to my job, I have an unusually broad grasp of most of the nonprofit organizations in town, and yet feel no closer to understanding which nonprofit direction I hope to head in the future.
I am contemplating goats and the fabrication of goat cheese. March 2009 internship? Peut-être.
I am contemplating Ireland and a return to Andrew. Fall 2008 move, with little money and no hope for legitimate work? Possibly.
I am contemplating my hands. My head. And how they would like to learn to work together to create a tangible future. Cob building? Gardening? Vermicompost? Baking? Cooking? Re-using? Creating? Categorizing? Building? Massaging? I want to be one of those women. Common to Portland, but not the extremes. A special mix of down-to-earth, warm, organic, handy, passionate, intelligent, doing, loving, clever, funny, soft, lightly wrinkled, tough, and moraled by a respect for life in its many forms.
I would prefer not to be an anxious, stagnant obfuscation.
Tonight I was amidst a family that felt so familiar. Partially because I have known similar families before (Anya's when growing up came to mind... Kass and her bread, her jars, her warmth and smile). But partially because I saw what I care about click into place like cogs on a earth-moral wheel. Read aloud... click. Creativity... click. Outdoors... click. Psychotherapist... click. Writer... click. Loves to draw... click. Dirty blond hair... click. Whole foods vegetarian... cuh...click. And racing toy cars, plunking out songs, packing in jars, and the baby guinea pigs in the corner.
Sometimes I think I need to make a list (perhaps that's what I'm doing) to document all my "family crushes" "grandmother crushes" "child crushes" and what it is that gives me that warm fuzzy feeling. Crush is probably not the right word to use, for fear of expressing a different sort of sentiment. But when I use "crush" I mean the warm tingly feeling of adolescence when you get nearly giddy because something just feels good. These days, however, my crushes come in the form of hip older ladies I'd aspire to be like, sweet curious kids I'd aspire to have, warm cozy families I'd hope to create.
I remember now. I used to call it "grandma envy," though envy and crush seem to describe two different sides of the same emotional fabric. The giddy of crush connotes a certain hopefulness... and the stab of envy seems to sink the stomach with the knowledge that the hoped-for will never be.
So perhaps my sentiment is a mix, as I both dream of possible futures and lament the qualities I feel would be hardest to come by naturally. Like the simplicity of an uncluttered home. The inner motivation to complete a novel. The laid back ease of a mother with her family, undaunted by the ticking of the clock or the stove left on.
Tonight I left feel hope. I felt energized to take on the new and follow that familiar scent to a path hidden just under the brush. I was calm (meaning unstressed) and enlivened.
It was because they were both writers that I began this blog tonight.
Let me be open to possibility and draw words from the experiences of each day. I sometimes forget that ever moment can be a "learning moment," if only one takes the time.
My tummy still rumbles, my madrigals await, and the form has yet to be filled out.
Tomorrow's suggestion?
READ ALOUD.
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