A few weeks ago one of my writing buddies challenged the group to words get up early and write at least 300 words. Thus the Spartan 300 club was formed to remind us that victory goes to the well-trained.
So for a few days I stayed up after putting the dog out and tried to think of things to write about. Then I got this brilliant idea to make a program for our end of the year extravaganza and the creative juices flowed through me like adrenaline. Seriously I was at the computer for almost 24 hours straight. I couldn't turn my mind off even when my fingers and back cramped. I amassed way more than 300 words so I had plenty to spare for my dry days. I'm not finished with the program because I'm still waiting for a few people to send me the information I've asked for. Nothing curbs a creative process like asking for permission or waiting. But I understand how that works so I'm trying to be patient.
Okay, I haven't been patient at all. I've asked, begged, nagged, co-erced and bribed. I think nagging worked the best. Plus I wrote some of my best emails ever which turned out to be epistles, not just emails. So I added to the word account.
After awhile the adrenaline rush wore off and I've gone back to reading into the wee hours of the night and sleeping til the sun is directly overhead. A terrible habit to get into or try to break. Especially with a baby coming to visit. I doubt Gracie will want to sleep while I sleep. And if she does, her mom isn't going to like the new schedule.
Well last night/this morning, I had a disturbing dream about Jack and my father arguing. I'd wake up, try to shake it, roll over, then get right back into the mix. My body was reacting like it always does, shutting down/getting depressed, even though I was asleep. Weird. When the woman called from the silver store and told Jack I needed to pay $20.00 to have the silver that has been in her possession since Feb. sent away to be resilvered, I stormed out of bed with an attitude. Psychologically speaking, a displaced attitude, but grampy ass, sharp tongued attitude nonetheless.
I flounced into the shower, washed my new short hair, dried and tried to style it into cuteness that wasn't there (and why I thought it would be is beyone me). I clomed around the office, opening and slamming drawers looking for the receipt that said I'd already paid the twenty bucks. Sweetie and Suzi sat back and hoped the storm would whirl by without too much collateral damage. We left the house, went to the bank, headed in the wrong direction, I yelled, got gas, and Sweetie asked what was eating at me. I really didn't know. Is it possible for a $20 mis-communication to make a person as undone as I was?
We get to the silver shop. I'm ready for a battle with my check stub in hand. Thankfully before I could get started on my rant, the lady smiles at me, explains not only that the phone call was meant for someone else AND my silver was ready to be picked up. How convenient that I was there! She went in the back, came out with a brown paper bag, pulled out a tissue wrapped silver mirror and comb that glistened like the sun on a quiet blue-green ocean.
And I began to cry.
You see the mirror and comb were pieces of a dresser set my father had given my mother - either as a wedding present or 25th anniversary present. They sat on her dresser for years, then in the drawer, then packed away in a locked box. I doubt they'd been used much. I had them fixed and polished to pass them on to someone who might use them. A great-granddaughter, maybe.
When they were unwrapped I saw silver, but I also saw my mother and realized Mother's Day is coming up and remembered my mom is gone and well, you get the picture. And I thought about Dad, whose birthday just passed unnoticed, giving mom the set, and how he was, to me, the epitome of light and dark swirled together like a Hershey's Hug.
I think the anger, sadness, memory and tears got all rolled up together. And I think that's going to happen on occasion. And I think I'm not crazy even when it feels like I am. And I think Sweetie is right when he says I don't have to hold on to certain memories - the bad ones.
Thanks for listening,