I don’t have writer’s block. I have a life block. Nothing feels quite right with me of late, and I don’t feel particularly present, either. Everything feels a little bit skewed and off-kilter. Part of this is timing – November is not my favourite month. It’s not the dark and dreary cold dampness, though that’s not thrilling either. It’s memories. The body remembers trauma, and … Continue reading Feeling Wordsworth, an off-the-cuff joint.
I know that somewhere in the blogosphere, someone is responding to the prompt “what is the most memorable gift you’ve ever received” with “my children.” My teeth grind just thinking about it. A child is a cooperative effort. They’re also work, which is unlike most presents. Except for puzzles, though you have to be careful when it comes to giving puzzles to people. They might … Continue reading A most memorable gift.
The new year always turns me into a cow – I ruminate. Thoughts of this, that, and the other drift across my consciousness, but at this time of year, I tend to focus on the past. Maybe it’s the dark? I’ve been taking an online course about brain development. It has a particular focus on problems that can arise during child development if there is … Continue reading Memories.
I loved the heat register in my home. Pretty vents decorating the floor, making things warm and cozy; I’m a fan of both. I sat on top of them when I was a child, nightgown spread wide to capture the warm air, a tiny parachute of heat, my quilt on my lap to make sure that no warm air was lost to my bedroom’s surrounds. … Continue reading The register.
From Famine to Feast. 