An Easy Way To Release Resistance
Saturday, August 28th, 2010
My mother keeps many of her memories in a cedar chest at the end of her bed. The trunk holds awards and clippings—I think she saved every newspaper column I ever wrote, and she has at least five copies of the first whole newspaper in which my first column appears. The chest holds locks of hair and photographs and playbills. And it holds some of my early artistic and literary efforts.
There’s the paper plate covered in uncooked pasta and sprayed with gold that I made in third grade. There’s the misshapen sickly blue mug that I made in fifth grade. There’s the stilted poetry I wrote throughout grade school, and the 20 page, 10 chapter “novel” I wrote when I was twelve (I think it started with something like “it was a dark and stormy night.”)
My mother treasures every one of these creations. Why? Because her only child made them.
Each of us is still the child we were when we were young enough to be making funky art projects. Each of us is worthy of the kind of love that saves those projects. Each of us deserves to have our creations treasured and celebrated. (more…)
It’s a Scrabble day. Most Sundays, Tim and I manage to get in a game of Scrabble. I won last week, not that I care one way or the other. For me, it’s all about getting the best word scores I can in each turn.
