Mornings Like This

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Mornings like this, I have no clear path.

Outside, the sky is bright, but clouds hide the sun. It’s chilly. Not freezing, though. It’s not one of those warm and sunny fall days that demands I find an outdoor project. Nor is it cold, windy or rainy enough to necessitate staying inside. I could go either way.

Inside, as usual, projects pull me in many directions. Yesterday, I tidied the house and did my daily chores. I brought the compost to the bin, and the recyclables to the transfer station. I did all of the laundry, picked up packages at the airport, and went to the grocery store for a few necessities. That completed list left today open for projects.

For several months now, cleaning and rearranging the studio has been on the top of my “Tasks” list. Noticed regularly, and ignored. With new art supplies to find a spot for, I talked to myself this morning about getting at it. In my handwritten journal, I spent a whole page plotting out the manner and order of getting it done. The last line I wrote was, “but the floor…”

There is still the job of painting the floor. My progress is glacially slow. The bathroom floor is painted, which diverts my attention with its sloppy edges screaming out the need for woodwork there. In the laundry room, after weeks of contemplation and procrastination, the patch of floor under the clothes dryer is done. Now, I’m stymied by the need to disconnect the washer, and pull it away from the wall.

Fortunately, being Tuesday, I have this blog to divert my attention. And yet, on mornings like this, I am engulfed with doubt and misgivings about writing. Do I really, still, have anything worthwhile to say? I struggle more and more each week with topic and relevance.

Today is my grandson’s birthday. Patrick is sixteen today. I was present at his birth. All photos taken in that hospital room of his newborn self have a holy glow. I can still clearly picture my daughter’s tired smile. At sixteen, Patrick is a strong, handsome and respectful young man, and I’m very proud of him.

Yesterday was my father’s birthday. If he were still here, he’d be ninety-two years old. As it stands, he’s been gone twenty years last August. I still talk to him, though, when I see things that I know would interest him, and we have lively conversations in my mind whenever I’m working in the garden.

On other days, either of these topics could fuel an entire blog. Today, I worry about the universal appeal. Am I being self-centered? I eke out barely a paragraph on each subject, and wonder if I haven’t said it all before.

Some days, circumstances or blind enthusiasm direct me to action. On days like this, it’s rather a matter of just plodding on, one foot in front of the other.

 

 

About cindyricksgers

I am an artist. I live on an island in northern Lake Michigan, USA. I have two grown daughters, four strong, smart and handsome grandsons and one beautiful, intelligent and charming granddaughter. I live with two spoiled dogs. I love walking in the woods around my home, reading, writing and playing in my studio.

6 responses »

  1. Interesting about your musing about having anything worthwhile to say. Lately I have been waiting to write a blog post when it feels imperative. Before I would write a lot just to think out loud. Now it seems I am always just waiting for when the Universe wants to say something. Of course, then the readers start to disappear. The stats grow lower. But it does feel more in integrity, somehow. (Not to say that an everyday musing blog can’t be in integrity. This has just felt more in integrity in my life right now. Maybe it would be nice if the Universe had something to say more frequently, lol?!) Thanks for letting me ramble here. Your putting one foot in front of the other helped at least me!

    • You know, I’ve reintroduced “Morning Pages” into my life. After I spend three long-hand pages of stream-of-consciousness writing spouting about every single gripe or wish or remembered dream, I feel used up. Maybe, somewhere, in the midst of all that angst-y whining, was a kernel of pure truth that would have otherwise formed the basis of a heartfelt, inspiring blog…but, having gotten it off my chest, I’ve moved on. Leaving me, often, with day-to-day ramblings, which must, it seems, get tiring to those who read. I’d like to have a message that others could at least identify with…sometimes that escapes me. Thanks for reading, Kathy, and for your comments!

      • Cindy, this is so interesting. I get it about the Morning Pages. When I do any personal writing like this it doesn’t feel imperative to blog or do any other writing. Perhaps the Pages are getting all your good nuggets now.

  2. I admire your ability to post so often. I’ve been slipping away from blogging, and I miss it! On the other hand, I feel like there’s nothing for me to say that would be of interest to anyone. You’ve given me a little boost, though. What we think of our own contributions aren’t necessarily what others think.

    Plus, as always, you’re a productive dynamo, at least in my opinion. I salute you!

    • I’ve been blogging regularly since 2012. Have I told all my stories? Sometimes it feels like it….that all is left is my day-to-day. I write for myself, of course, but it’s nice to feel that the message is a bit identifiable, if not universal. Sometimes I doubt it. As for me regarding your writing, when I see a post from you, it’s like picking up the phone and hearing the voice of a dear friend. It reassures me that you’re out there, continuing on, and have not written the rest of us off as foolish ramblers. And whatever you have to say, Sara, is music to my ears. Thanks for reading, and for your comments!

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