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.