Write as if no one will read it

I write these blog entries with the assumption that nobody will read them.

I hear it in my mind in Kathy Mattea’s voice when she sang, “You got to sing like you don’t need the money… Love like you’ll never get hurt… You’ve got to dance, dance, dance, like nobody’s watching… It’s gotta come from the heart if you want it to work.”

You got to write, write, write, like nobody’s reading…

And then when you learn that somebody read it, if you did it well, you might find that the feeling is that of comfort.

Several years ago, when I was new to blogging, a niece, who was in her early teens at the time, said, “I like it when you write from the heart. You should write more of that.”

I think that’s good advice.

I’ve always felt best about writing from the heart, that is, writing without worrying how it will be taken. I do sometimes have to carefully choose my words so they don’t get misundertsood by certain people who have proven a tendency to twist my meaning, but more often than not, I just let it flow.

I know there is a risk that someone will read my words.You are reading them right now. And there is a list of people who purposely follow my blog, although that doesn’t necessarily mean they will read each entry.

But people stumble across my writing in other ways, too.

When I was 18, I was at the family home of the guy who ended up becoming my first husband. A friend of his grabbed my purse and opened it, saying, “Whatcha got in here?”

He took out my journal and I gave a mild protest, like, “Oh, no… don’t read that.”

But I didn’t really want him to not read it. He read it out loud, at first as though he was mocking me, but he kept reading long after a few sentences. And I was glad. I just sat there and smiled smugly, like, “Ha. Go ahead and read. I have nothing to hide, and I’m glad you’re enjoying the ride.”

Somebody once told me, “Don’t write anything that you wouldn’t want to be seen by the whole world if it fell into the wrong hands.”

I’ve written things I didn’t want anyone else to see, and they did fall into the wrong hands, but that was before I learned that advice.

Sometimes people surprise me and say something to the effect of having read what I wrote in my blog entries or elsewhere on the internet. It’s a comfortable feeling of having unknowingly invited someone into my pointless little world, and finding that something I said stuck in their mind.

How about you? Can you relate to any of this? I’d love to hear how you feel about the production of your own writing. Leave a comment below, if you can find the elusive comment box, or otherwise connect with me.

(Kathy Mattea’s video: “Come From The Heart”)

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Melons and Instagram

I saw this on my oldest daughter’s Instagram last night: ↓

01 -original pic

I commented to her, as shown below – me being Squirrelmix: ↓

02 -  comments

Then, I went to my own Instagram and posted this picture: ↓

melon mama (2)

Today, I look at Instagram and I see this by my daughter: ↓

04- N pic

And her comments/hashtags that were under the pic: ↓

05 - comments

That’s all. Have a great day!

Siggy

Unscrabble

While under the influence of a stiff cup of Traditional Medicinals “Nighty Night” tea (in an attempt to undo the three cups of coffee I’d had a few hours earlier), I engaged in a game of Scrabble with my 17-year-old daughter, SF, and my 13-year-old son, PJ.

We were off to a crappy start when SF couldn’t form one single word with her seven letters. I even tried helping her, and said, “OK, we’ll bend the rules this once so you can dump your letters and start again.”

SF managed to form a lame word that yielded something like four points. (Actually, it was five.)

PJ then took his turn and also formed a lame word, though he did get 16 points from it.

I took my turn, sure that my astonishing Scrabble skills would kick in, but my word failed to excite my taste-buds and was only worth 12 points.

We played one more round each with no joy in our hearts as our words sucked big-time. We complained vociferously and I began to dislike what had once been my favorite game.

I suggested, “How about we ditch all the letters and start fresh, but this time, we can only use words that aren’t real?”

My kids eyed me dubiously, but we decided it couldn’t be much worse than the existing stalemate we faced.

I wrote the rules at the top of our new game:

1. It can’t be a real word.

2. It has to be pronounceable.

3. A “Q” has to have a “U”.

4. You can use proper names.

The game suddenly became fun!

PJ was busy texting on his phone and soon lost interest, to which SF said, “Oh, come on, PJ. How hard can it be to not think of a word?”

SF took over for PJ and finished his letters for him, while I wrote down her quote as the slogan that should appear on the side of the Unscrabble box.

We ended our trial and error of Unscrabble with whopping scores of 293 for SF, 133 for PJ, and 215 for me. Every letter was used, and we enjoyed the game fully, not having to waste time following the strict rules of real Scrabble. Furthermore, compared to what can often become a tedious and drawn-out game, this game went quickly. I think a half hour of playing this way is not an unreasonable expectation.

Unscrabble board Unscrabble score2

A Beautiful Mind

I had the most amazing dream last night.  Well, it was amazing to ME.

I dreamed that I was in a place of business on Tyee Road in Point Roberts, Washington.  It was a small building in which I had never been before and which probably doesn’t exist outside the dream.  In retrospect, it might have been a small art gallery.

On the wall above a table were large posters like horizontal navigation maps.  They had symbols on them that seemed to make no sense.

I announced to the people around me, “Hey, I can see the patterns in those posters just like the guy in the movie A Beautiful Mind!”

Some people tried to see what I was seeing.  Others just kinda looked at me sideways like “Uh…okaaay…whatever.”

If I looked at the poster as a whole, I couldn’t see the pattern.  When I looked with my eyes narrowed and my head tilted back a bit, the shapes in the patterns showed themselves in 3D whereas the rest of the images remained 2D.

There might be some meaning in this, or it might just be random disconnected thoughts.

If there is a meaning, I’m going to venture a guess that it is to say if you haven’t been there, you really have no idea how or why the person who experienced what they lived has impacted them.

Furthermore, looking at what you see in total cannot be understood until you see each fine detail, and see them in their proper order.

(I originally published this in facebook Notes on February 11, 2011.)

Mummer’s Dance – by Loreena McKennitt

Video

(This post was originally written in my secret blog on January 1, 2013, but I wasn’t ready to share it at the time).

I heard this for the first time just now, in the background of a video called “The Wounded Healer”, about which I read in this thread on a fb group called Highly Sensitive Souls:

http://www.facebook.com/groups/highlysensitives/permalink/10151224146327153/?comment_id=10151224151837153&notif_t=like

It is the first song to which I have been able to listen without feeling agony, in the past week or two… I don’t know how long. I’ve lost track of days. I am enveloped in darkness.

I do not feel happy. The whole tone of this song somehow fits as background music for the way I feel inside. Not the lyrics – just the sound.

I assume the lyrics to be something pagan, but I am putting my own meaning to them as MY Lord is THE Lord, and HE is the creator of all the things about which the song sings. I do not partake of pagan things, but rather I appreciate that which God has created.

Music and Lyrics by Loreena McKennitt

When in the Springtime of the year
When the trees are crowned with leaves
When the ash and oak, and the birch and yew
Are dressed in ribbons fair

When owls call the breathless moon
In the blue veil of the night
The shadows of the trees appear
Amidst the lantern light

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

Who will go down to those shady groves
And summon the shadows there
And tie a ribbon on those sheltering arms
In the springtime of the year

The songs of birds seem to fill the wood
That when the fiddler plays
All their voices can be heard
Long past their woodland days

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

And so they linked their hands and danced
Round in circles and in rows
And so the journey of the night descends
When all the shades are gone

“A garland gay we bring you here
And at your door we stand
It is a sprout well budded out
The work of Our Lord’s hand”

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again
We bring a garland gay

Chorus:
We’ve been rambling all the night
And some time of this day
Now returning back again

Eau De Parfum

I pulled out my list as I walked into the grocery store.

Suddenly, there in the produce section, I smelled a most beautiful perfume.

I looked around to see who it could be that smelled so pretty, wanting to ask them what it was.

There was nobody nearby.

I figured whoever it was must have heavily doused themselves for me to be able to pick up their scent, so far was I from other shoppers.

I walked on, looking at my list and grabbing more needed items.

The soothing aroma, flowery, candyish, and slightly citrusy, followed me and became even stronger.

I glanced at the floor to see if someone had dropped a bottle of perfume somewhere.

Then I sniffed my grocery list.

Mmmmmm!

I remembered that a couple days earlier, in a local pharmacy, I had sprayed a tester of  “Meow” eau de parfum by Katy Perry on a sample card, and put it into the back pocket of the jeans I had been wearing, with that same list nestled next to it.  I had wished to take some time to consider whether or not I really wanted to spend $60 on something beautiful that made me feel good but which I didn’t need.

I blame/credit my Serbian heritage for this frugality.

But being followed by perfume that made me swoon?  Maybe it’s a sign that it’s the right thing to do.

What do YOU think?

meow

See the next blog entry, which goes with this:

Today’s Twisted Gratitudes

Today I am grateful for:

1.  The dryer in my laundry room, which not only dries our laundry, but today it performed the job of masking the sobs that wrenched from my beaten down heart so the rest of my family didn’t have to hear me cry.
2.  Long sleeves on my shirts to wipe my tears.
3.  Supportive friends in the groups for highly sensitive people where I find a bit of solace.
4.  This blog, where I can let a little bit of my pain bleed out.
5.  My faith that heaven is my final destination.

Come, Lord Jesus.  Quickly.  Please.

Handel Wrote Messiah in a 24-Day Manic Episode

Video

While talking with my counselor today (yes, she meets with clients in her home office on weekends, and that’s the only way I can fit it in, so it works perfectly for me), we discussed PTSD, anxiety, and bipolar disorder.

I may have all three of those, and so I will be talking to a psychiatrist to find out for sure. (UPDATE: The psychiatrist says I don’t have bipolar disorder – I was just going through some heavy stuff at that time – but PTSD and anxiety for sure.)

I was impressed to hear from my counselor that Handel wrote “Messiah” during a 24-day manic phase.

Impressed, but not at all surprised.

Knowing what I myself can do in a … in a … OK, I’ll say it … “MANIC PHASE” … if that is what I have … I can totally imagine such an exquisite compilation of music being created in that space of time.

I once wrote an elaborate song for a friend, based on one sentence he wrote. He was speechless that I did it in the space of an afternoon.

Actually, it wasn’t even “an afternoon” – I banged it out in less than an hour.

Anyway, I hope someone else enjoys Handel’s Messiah as they stumble across it in my blog. I am listening to it in my headset right now, while working on some weekly home school reports I need to submit to the school where a couple of my sons are enrolled. The music blocks out the sound of the TV, which my husband is watching in the next room. I hate TV. I chalk that up to my high sensitivity.

I don’t think I’ve ever asked a question before in my blogging, having thus far blogged more for my own sanity than for communication —  although, I do love it when people leave comments — but I will throw a few questions out now for whatever they are worth, and I hope you will answer at least one (but the more, the merrier):

1. Did you read this whole thing?
2. What brought you here?
3. Do you like Handel’s Messiah?
4. Has anything I have written today resonated with you in any way?

Thank you for reading my ramblings.

Today’s Gratitudes

  1. The sun is shining.
  2.  My two youngest kids are out at a children’s program with our behavior interventionist, where they are having fun, burning off energy, and I get a bit of quiet time to work.
  3. I have an excellent friend in Toronto with whom I have been having good conversation, and he is truly like a brother to me.  He’s one of the few in-person friends I have (he used to live in BC, and we have been to each other’s homes)  who has stuck with me through thick and thin.  Bro, if you’re reading this, you already know how grateful I am for you, but here you can see it again.  (And if anyone else is reading this, please don’t get the wrong impression.  This is truly a brother-sister kind of friendship and he also knows my husband.  I could write a whole blog entry on how much I thank God for this friend, and maybe I will someday.)
  4. The microwave oven we ordered to replace the one that blew up last week is waiting to be picked up at the Sears pickup store.
  5. My oldest daughter, who is in long-term rehab, is finally allowed to receive and write letters.  I am doing the Snoopy dance on the inside, even though I am still exhausted from adrenal burnout.