Brass Tacks Blogging

I guess you would say, Ms. Blog, that I have been reading more than writing and dreaming more than doing.  Like Julie, I have neglected this little blog that is read by millions and enjoyed by all.  I have (in my spare time) been compiling and cataloguing my writings from the past thirty years in the form of a story, a story told by my eighty-seven year old voice.  (No, I'm not quite that old.)

I've also been writing the amazing story of my beautiful friend Sanu, who when she was in her twenties was burned over seventy percent of her body in a gas stove explosion at her home in Nepal.  A miraculous story she has to tell.

So you see, Ms. Blog, my current excuses.  Time to get down to brass tacks. I think that means focus and focus we will!  At least, once a month from now on.  Maybe.

Dear Ms. Blog

If our blog could talk…wait…is our blog male or female?  This is an important question, for I as a writer need to use correct pronouns when I write.

Let me start again.  I think I have an answer.

If our blog could talk she would sternly ask Judy and me a question.  “Where have you girls been?” she queries.  “Have you been (as in the story in 1 Kings 18 of Elijah versus the prophets of Baal) taking a walk, spending too much time in the bathroom, or worse,  sleeping the day away?”

After being called a girl (I’m not above a little flattery), I’m most willing to answer.  First, I’ve been undeniably negligent.  Second, when I did remember I didn’t have anything to say. Third, I’ve been busy writing.  Writing about people in a tuberculosis sanitarium in the 1940’s.  Writing about Elena, and Arlene, and Jean, and Mary, and Hazel, and even writing about whiney Eunice.  They occupy my thoughts while cooking, while walking, while reading….  I’m having a great time, in fact, having more fun than a barrel of monkeys.  There.  That ought to make you happy, Ms. Blog.  Are you a blonde or a brunette…or should I use past tense?!

Sunday Morning Collage from Judy

                                                    Journey of Letters reprise

From This Heart Back

For both of us, this time in our lives is filled with sadness:  Parkinson’s seeming to ruin lives, a friend's dementia and assisted living issues, a young neighbor across the street facing an unknown serious and debilitating illness…it goes on and on.

I don’t know how we can feel happy about all this.  The key word for me is feel.  I’m not feeling much, except sadness.  I can’t say I’m depressed.  Life is awful.

You said the word “joy.”  What is it?  Is it an emotion?  Or is it a state of being that those of us who belong to our Creator God are in, whatever we feel?

Questions that need pondering.

It is so true that we are not in control of anything…well, perhaps things like turning the washer on and buying groceries, but nothing much bigger.  I’m sure that is an overstatement!  

Hack all these words to pieces, please.

Anne Lamott’s twenty-first century psalm is at the center of the human dilemma, the tension we live in.  I’m so glad you read that yesterday.

Your turn in this “from the heart” conversation.

Julie

From the Heart

Julie and I were talking this morning.  I was saying that joy seems elusive.  I've lost my passions for quilting, painting and even writing.  All of our friends are getting older just as we are, some sick, some dying, most longing for relief from the mental torture and the problems of the world.  All things out of our control, and I've always been fond of control.  Then this afternoon I read a prayer written by #Anne Lamott ( don't know what that hash tag means, but it seemed the appropriate place), a prayer I would have written if my passion for writing hadn't waned.

Hi, God.

I am just a mess.

It is all hopeless.

What else is new?

I would be sick of me, if I were You, but
         miraculously You are not.

I know I have no control over other people's
          lives, and I hate this.  Yet I believe that if I
          accept this and surrender, You will meet me
          wherever I am.

Wow.  Can this be true?  If so, how is this
           afternoon---say, two-ish?

Thank you in advance for Your company and
          blessings.

You have never once let me down.

Amen.

Ten reasons to read A JOURNEY OF LETTERS this summer

1.  You didn't read it last summer, and if you're a woman, you might enjoy our common experiences of growing up and growing old.  We are two authors, not one.  

2.  It will make you laugh and make you cry.

3.  It has a surprise ending!  

4.  The cover is beautiful and you'll be proud to be seen with it on your blanket at the beach or rocking in your chair at your mountain retreat.  (I'd prefer the chair at the beach.  Hard to get up from down there on the blanket.  :-)

5.  You can order it from Amazon in paperback, hardback or as an e-book or directly from tatepublishing.com/bookstore

6.  You don't have to know us (both 71 years old) to identify with the ordinary experiences of our ordinary lives.

7.  Our website is www.ajourneyofletters.tateauthor.com.  You might get to know us and find a recipe or two.

8.  We're hip enough to be on Facebook.  We never figured out how to tweet so anyone would read it on Twitter.  (We're not famous yet.)

9.  If you like to record your days in a diary or journal (do you know the difference?) you'll like this book.

10.  We've blogged for two years.  Why has it not yet gone viral?  (Is that a disease?)  letterscribblers.blogspot.com

  You don't want us to go to our graves thinking we're all alone in the big wide world of writers, do you?

Words

Madeline L'Engle is one of my author heroes.  Here she is, perhaps at her best.

I, who live by words, am

     wordless when

I try my words in prayer.  All

     language turns

To silence.  Prayer will take my words

     and then

Reveal their emptiness.  The stifled voice

     learns

To hold its peace, to listen with the

     heart

To silence that is joy, is adoration.

The self is shattered, all words torn

     apart

In this strange patterned time of

     contemplation

That, in time, breaks time, breaks

     words, breaks me,

And then, in silence, leaves me

     healed and mended.

I have returned to language, for I see

Through words, even when all

     words are ended,

I, who live by words, am

     wordless when

I turn me to the Word to pray.

     Amen.