OK

My daughter explained to me in not too patient syllables that if I want responses I have to blog. Yeah Yeah Yeah. I understand that. She says if I want a following I have to blog consistently. Yeah Yeah Yeah. I understand that, too. The mind isn't willing, the body is weak, and the time just isn't working out too great. She doesn't understand that I'd rather play yahtzee with my husband than sit alone pouring out my hopes and dreams to a computer generated image. It's work, this writing. I know, I used to do it for a living - briefly, very briefly. And maybe that's where my problem hides itself. I used to do it for a living. I also used to do it for fun. Only, it wasn't. It was always hard work and I quickly (okay, not so quickly - ten years) came to the conclusion that I'm not all that good at it. Actually, my daughter is ten or maybe even fifteen times better at the written word then I'll ever be. She expresses herself well and eloquently. There seems to be something strangled in my soul. My expression, my ability to express myself, is glued inside this container that's welded shut. Has been since I was very young. I am not eloquent, not nearly as eloquent as I'd like to be. On occasion I can be humorous, sometimes downright funny, but those are rare occasions. Then there's this mourning thing. Six funerals in the last year and a half have left me speechless, grieving, and out and out bewildered. I cannot seem to function normally. I get moments of intense grief where I cannot even cry. I simply shut down. Then there's times when all I can do is cry. I realize this is an evolving process but I don't care. I don't like feeling like this. It's an isolating, demoralizing, depressing experience. Last but not least there's the glass. When I finally lift myself out of the funk, I find I'd rather do glass than write. For years and years and years, all I wanted to do was write a book that would sell. Then I started my journey down a different path. I discovered I could do stained glass. Where stories whirled through my brain, now patterns of light and color abide. To draw, to cut, to grind, to foil, to solder, to polish, to finally sign my name to a piece that I know will reside, someday, in someone else's possession has become a dream I can and have achieved. To create beauty from beauty makes me feel divine. Not in a God sense, no, more like a permanent legacy sense. I leave God to his own creating. I cannot compete and I'm human enough to realize I really don't want to compete. But God has given me divine inspiration and I've taken off in flight with it. I fuss over it - the glass. When I'm done I'm proud but not ever satisfied. Ideas pop in and out of my head. Sometimes I write them down to create later. Sometimes I'll forget about them, then suddenly they reappear a couple of years later. I'm humbled that someone would actually enjoy owning one of my pieces. I wish I could see it as a business but I really see it as a calling. And all that interferes with sitting down at the computer and blogging. So if someone stops by to read occasionally, please be aware that I'll stop by and write occasionally. But it will be an inconsistent kind of thing. Either I'll be off cleaning house, or working full time, or spending time with my kids and grandkid, or doing glass, and occasionally sitting somewhere crying. Give me a look see occasionally but please don't be mad when it's inconsistent. Life intrudes, and occasionally, the outside swing calls for me to sit on a nice day and contemplate my life, look at my growing things, and just enjoy being. Wishing you all bright blessings. The runelady.

Unexpected

My mother died July 5. It is now November 5. I haven't blogged in forever because it's been hard to connect two thoughts together. My family is hurting and there is no denying it. Now my mother-in-law is having hallucinations, hearing voices and going through the horrible steps of dementia. It doesn't seem to end.

On top of all of this I have started the craft show circuit. I do only three a year. The first was a major disappointment sales wise. I think it was a combination of being stuck in a corner with only one table and horribly low attendance because the sun was shining and folks wanted to catch that last nice day for yard work.

Yesterday was the second show. The attendance was better. At the start, I was fine. Honest. Got the tables set up, got everything out and it looked great. Sat down to enjoy the crowd. Then a man from the church started off with this hokey Christmas music. I was fine. Then he started singing "I'll be home for Christmas". It was my mom's favorite Chgristmas song. I started to cry and I couldn't stop. I went into the bathroom and stood weeping while he finished the song. My mom was emotionally ill and we had a lousy relationship. Christmas was her favorite holiday, yet she handled it badly most years. Holidays were the time when her hallucinations were stronger and her mood was harshest. I stood in that bathroom with tears pouring down my face wondering what in hell was wrong with me. Although my mom and I clashed at every moment, I still miss her. She is no longer on this planet and I still have that twinge of guilt niggling at me. That little niggle of guilt that my very existence contributed to her discontent and unhappiness. And Christmas music makes it worse. Always has.

Life changes. It is ever changing. And yet, it stays the same. And sometimes it's a good thing. And sometimes it's a sucky thing. I'm hoping the last craft show isn't as hard as yesterday's was.

The good news is sales were better than the last craft show. The table as a whole didn't do great but we didn't crap out either.

And more good news is my sister finished her last radiaton therapy for breast cancer. She had a lumpechtomy (spelling iffy here) then 36 radiation treatments. When I call her and ask how she is, her reply is nearly always the same... "A crispy critter" is how she replies. We're hoping this is the end of it for her and that she heals and can get on with life.

The sucky things are winning dammit, and I'm tired of them.

Wishing you bright blessings.