We went on vacation this year. It was
heaven! Ten days of resting in the bosom of Mother Nature; sipping spritzy
drinks on the water, beside the water, and on more than one occasion in the
water. We played games, enjoyed one
another’s company, ate great food and soaked up every single ray of sunshine
from the single week that was summer 2014. I came back to work toasted golden!
I feel a little like the potato chip in the bag that stayed in the fryer too
long. Not many people picked the right week for holidays it seems. I’ve been
spending a lot of time in my office, door closed, avoiding green-eyed pale
people.
It’s sad that summer is over, that vacation
is over. I love those days far removed from snow squalls and filled with social
gatherings and late-night sunsets. I wish they could go on forever without, of
course, the ramifications of kids never returning to school and my waistline
never recovering from picnics and bbq’s and the latest fruity concoction of the
LCBO.
On the flip-side I secretly love how the
first week of September quietly reveals our desperate need for routine. The
kids go back to school, dinners get eaten before 9pm, I realize that my hair
and skin tone are competing with one another for a beach chair in Miami. Rather
than contemplate what kind of dog I should get for my beach bag, September
inspires me to opt for a corrective colour. September is a blessing! Some routines
transition back seamlessly. Those first cool weather crockpot stews, the
invasion of hoodies and jackets upon the backdoor coat hooks, Thursday evening
gatherings in the living room for season premieres—these things happen so
naturally. Other things require a gentle
shove to get them going again; making lunches at night instead of franticly
between showers and dressing in the morning, keeping bus tickets stocked and
remembering how much time a teenager needs in front of the mirror—these things
take a little more effort. For the record I am surprised by the amount of time
the male child needs.
Something else that requires a little
priming is my pen. It happens each year, my creative process needs a vacation,
a time to rest, recharge and reset and I find myself traipsing barefoot,
wordlessly though the warm summer days. It’s not unwelcome, this time to refill
the creative well with face-time and memory making, the touching, smelling,
giggling, crying, take your breath encounters with family and friends and
strangers destined to join the ranks. I submerge myself completely. I don’t
write a word! Not here, not in my private journals, not in my poetry files or
short stories—nothing. Wordless and barefoot and by September feeling just a
little out of step, as though I’ve stayed a few days too long on vacation.
Time to prime the pump! So, I’ve promised
myself 500 words a day for the next 30 days. That should do it.
Some of those words are bound to land here
and I certainly expect them to be a little mucky, the first few buckets drawn
from the well always are.
Happy Back to 'Normal' :) ......day one 535+ words! did any of them make sense?
Love
M
