Winter Morning, Light

Shot on Sunday

Pick-a-little, talk-a-little

Shh.

 

 

Learn the rules here.

My-my-my-my generation

“Woah! White out? Who uses white out anymore?”

“Um. I guess people who don’t have a word processor with a backspace”

“Uh, what’s a word processor?”

“You know, a fancy electric typewriter”

“A typewriter? Oh, mom. You’re old”

What you will

The truth is, there aren’t many moments in my life where I am without words or thoughts to share. Not many, no, but  there are a few. And in those times it’s not as if the words have dried up, or the thoughts don’t flow. It’s more that there just isn’t time to chase them to completion and align them into coherent structure.  My mind runs chaotically, directly counter to the way I wish it did.  If I could design it, there would be nothing but linear logic flowing out. Instead, what I’ve got is a convoluted water slide structure where tubes cross but never connect, waves splash wildly, droplets disappear into other designs, and it’s never, never quiet.

Reflection of the way I was raised, possibly.

I am the third of six children, my entrance into the world just four years prior to the dawn of the 70’s. That puts me smack dab in the middle of my 40’s this year, in case you’re wondering. After two boys, I was first born girl and following me are two sisters and a final baby brother to round out the even-steven three boys, three girls family. A family of six rather individual individuals. Among us, there are dancers, musicians, actors, writers, teachers, bankers, therapists, and craftsmen. Some of us are all of those things.  Not one of us is a particulary quiet person.  When the six of us began gathering mates, dates and spouses, the common theme in response from all of those “outsiders” who would soon join us, was the response of just how big, and loud, and warm, and overwhelming , and wonderful it is to be among us.  It’s a fact and an unchangeable one at that.  Truly, I didn’t know what still and quiet actually meant until years after leaving my family house and discovering the joy of such a place inside me and without.  I don’t say that to knock the noise and wonder of living it all out loud, but only to mention that the quiet has merit of its own.

So, I’ve been quiet here. You may have noticed, and even if you did not, I’m telling you so now. Quiet can be good for someone whose water park thinking had stayed open round the clock past the season. It’s not a shutdown, just a visit for maintenance. I’d say all kinds of things here about the whys and the wherefores of this feeling like neccessity, but that tends to make me sound as if I’m whining. Whining, I don’t do, if I can help it.

Writing, though, that I will do.