|I LOVE this picture
Not long ago, I joined a writing e-course called ‘Writing Our Way Home’. It was a lovely course designed to stimulate a little writerly creativity and the support of the other group members was really lovely.
It’s been over for a few months, well, two to be exact and in that time I have written zippety doo dah. In the course we were encouraged to observe something for five minutes, anything, the view outside your window, the children in the street, the changing season – whatever captures your attention and your imagination. Really looking takes practice. It’s not the same as observing – that’s more detached. This is about dropping into the moment and breathing it into and through you. It’s about being fully present. Then you write a ‘Small Stone’ which is to say, a miniature poem or piece of prose like this one:
The rain a tin fingered metronome on my roof
my heart and unquiet mind is lulled
by the beat
of natures steely tears
Or this one:
His milky sleep
soft weighted in my arms
The idea is to write one small stone a day and to share it, if you want to, on the site. I have found that I very much enjoy writing these little ‘proems’ (a word I made up – see what I did? I joined poem with prose…clever, eh?) and will endeavour to write one a day. It’s much like the oft mentioned fridge poetry, (using those magnetic word kits that stick to your fridge door), in that it stimulates your creativity and lets you play around with words for fun or for catharsis. I like both personally. Maybe we can call it ‘funarsis.
|“We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when…”
Anyhoo, the people who run the courses (Kaspa and Fiona) have just gotten married and they requested that everyone who cared to, submit a small tone for their wedding, so that they could collate them into a big wedding book to commemorate the day. I thought this was a lovely idea and so here’s what came to me:
is a gift
May you always
Open into these moments
Like you do
Into a perfect kiss
|See – big knickers can be sexy. It’s what I keep telling my husband.
I like it. I especially like it when things come to me without any effort or time spent actually thinking about it. I simply thought of them and wrote. Stream of consciousness baby!
Anyway, I’ll keep it brief for today. Suffice to say it’s difficult to write a post on nourishment when one is up to ones dandruff in phlegm, with a hacking cough that could cut through wood. Oh and asthma – did I mention the asthma? That I haven’t had since I was fifteen? That made its unwelcome appearance in the first of these FIVE (yes, that’s what I said, FIVE) bronchial visits? That now requires a permanent use of puffers (oh, the memories of freezing school hockey pitches in England) and oh, an assortment of tonics, vitamins and, in this last bout, the abrupt breech of my breastfeeding relationship with my wee Bear while I take a three day course of fekkin’ cortico-steroids, and the whisking away of aforementioned wee Bear and my Beanie-girl, while I attempt to recover. Well apparently, the one steroid makes me sleepy and, in my doctor’s words, “If the baby wakes, you won’t hear him.” I am also not allowed to drive on them. What the? They have suggested this course of action the other four times but the fifth is the charm I suppose. I am SO over it and it’s happening so often. But I really hate that I have to do it. Hate. It.
So, I’ll keep my hands busy, try not to feel bereft of my babes (I do need the rest, I admit that) and attempt to free myself from the dastardly lurgy once and for all.
Oh and I completely lost my voice at the weekend. And we had visitors. And my husband had to work from home because I had to talk in a whisper. And it didn’t come back. Until now. And I still sounds like a phone sex line.
“Hi, my name is Candy. What would you like me to do for you tonight…”
|Beanie & Bear