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Jul 28 2013

The Magic Jacket

 

An authors update:

 

I mentioned in my last post that I was writing a book.

 

It’s come to a bit of a standstill for a couple of reasons.

 

1,    I’m running out of words that I know how to use to form a sentence. I’ve realized that my vocabulary list is limited. On a good day I couldn’t tell you what a hyperbole is other than I think it’s a really cool word and super fun to say.

 I find myself using the same words over and over again, sometimes more than once in one sentence.   Then there are words that I really like, like superfluous, which has absolutely no place in the sentence I am working on other than to describe said sentence.  I want to use it so bad in another way.

 

Other words I want to use:    pterodactyl

                                                    Impervious

                                                    Enigmatic

                                                    Dogmatic

                                                     Legerdemain

‘                                                    obtuse

 

So far I’ve been unable to apply them anywhere.

 

 

2,   I sat down this weekend with every intention to immerse myself in my literary pursuit. I opened my file to proofread and recap what I’ve written so far and fell asleep three times!!!!

By my fourth read, I found myself muttering “yada yada, say what you want you want to say, get on with it woman!!!”

 

That’s not a good sign. 

 

 I think I have writers block.

 

I blame it on being busy.

 

Even my blog suffers.

 

I’ve gone from a passionate blogger to a jot downer on a napkin things I think would be great topics to write about.

By the time I get home from work, answer my phone messages, walk the dog, have a bite to eat, work on one of my painting commissions while I have some daylight to work with and conduct covert surveillance missions on my teenage son,  I have nothing left.

 

I’m tired of hearing myself say I’m too busy.

 

 I long for the day when I can say “nothing much”, when someone asks what I have been up to. Nothing much sounds perfect to me.

 

I’m still thinking though. That has not changed.

 

And it’s been so darn hot around here. It muddles my thinking. It’s not that difficult to get lost in my own head to begin with.

I can’t help but try to figure out what the heck is going on and what does it all mean.  I’ll bet if I was born at a much earlier time, I’d probably hang around with Aristotle or Lao-tzu or Dr. Seuss. I’d probably not completely get what they were talking about but I’d sure as heck enjoy the company and give the green eggs and ham thing some serious discussion and analysis.

 

I think that’s what I need- some serious philosophizing with like individuals.  Some big spiritual seeker convention would be right up my alley. Coffee with Jesus, Buddha, Mohammed, Lao-tzu, Jung and Dr. Seuss would be pure delight. 

I feel change coming though.   I had a storm dream again. I get them every time there is a stirring of sorts. It was swirling in the near distance which signifies the change is coming soon.  I feel like I need to prepare. I’m not buying canned goods or anything. It’s not that kind of storm. I do have an urge to get a good pair of running shoes though and maybe some body armor ….with pockets to hold a couple of  good self help books.   

 

I’m about to creatively burst if I don’t sit down soon and write something or paint something. It’s not so much that I have any great visions to create or anything substantial to say- I just feel like taking some sort of creative action- which this morning is just writing- nothing else. Although I must say, a new painting is beginning to percolate in my brain. I can see the colours and I can feel the way it feels but I haven’t got a clear vision yet. It’s like a really blurry photograph in my head.

 

This happens every summer and always somewhere in the middle of it. The ideas are seeded but my patience is beginning to wear thin while I wait for something to surface to the surface.

 

I’m trying to get around to the things that I have been putting off, like weeding out my back driveway and sorting through that pile of clothes that’s been collecting in the corner of my bedroom since the late spring. I place them on my bed every Saturday morning with the intention of trying on and keeping what fits and tossing what doesn’t.  Every Saturday night, I kick them back on the floor as I collapse on the mattress.

 

My daughter helped me go through them this past weekend. She’s home for the summer.

She helped me clean out my closet too.
My daughter and my niece sat on the edge of my bed while I went through every item. “It’s time”, my daughter said. “You’ve got to let go of the past”.

 

The two of them were deeply opposed to my large collection of velour pant.

“Seriously Mom! You’re not J-Lo.”

“Nope! You are not Jenny from the block. You’re just not.” My niece was quick to add.

They were tough.

I thought it was a little harsh.

Another shirt and pair of pants had them in stitches. “You look like the Mom from the Partridge family”.

“But couldn’t I wear this for…” I would say.

“No!” they would shout.

“But what if I paired it with…”

“No! Absolutely not”.

 

My niece removed two large garbage bags of the discards out of the house when she left. They didn’t trust me to leave them here.

 

A part of me was happy that they helped me to see the light although I don’t know if it was the right decision to let go of the painter pant or the baby blue cargo with the coffee stain on the thigh.  As for the velour….. I still don’t know how I feel about that.

 

My daughter then took me out shopping.  We went from one side of town to the other searching for some fresh new pieces to fill my now empty closet.

 

I suggested we stop in at a second hand shop. I argued the incredible deals and the vintage finds.

 

My daughter warned me as we walked through the parking lot “fine, I’ll go in there with you but you are not going in to find the velour pants you just gave away.”

 

“I know!” I said defensively. 

 

The let down of my shoulders could not hide my disappointment.

 

I spent the next hour weaving in and out of the racks of cast-offs, looking over my shoulder, afraid to make any move towards the long line of hanging fuzzy pant.. My fashion probation officer followed me relentlessly peering at me with eyebrows raised as I returned the offending articles of clothing to the hanger.

 

I made a quick turn down the next aisle and then darted through a pile of coats in attempt to lose her. Stopping for a moment to catch my breath, I leaned against a wall of tweed and poly blend. 

 

A small grey checked blazer called to me. And it still had the original store tags on it.!!!!!!    What a find!!!

 

It’s Italian.  I don’t know anything about fashion but Italian anything is supposed to be really well made. Double bonus!

 

I’ve always wanted a good jacket.

 

I slipped it on and stared at myself in the closest finger smudged mirror I could find.

 

I looked like someone that just stepped out of a university library.  I looked scholarly yet slightly rumpled.

It looked like the coat of an artist or ….dare I say…..an author.  

 

Well, they do say “Dress the Part”.

 

So, we’ll see if my magic jacket inspires me to write. I’ll let you know how it goes

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