It’s been a scattered week. (Is it really only Thursday morning?)
After seven blissful hours of sleep, I am more equipped than usual to muse on this and that, and offer a few observations on the self – how, and how much we offer to others – along with thoughts on colorful gloves, drunken drafts, and assorted amusements.
Statements of self – purple, pink, and red
I am seated on my couch, watching a young mother walking with her two little girls – they look to be four or five – all holding hands, swinging their arms in the cold, both girls wearing bright purple sweaters.
From this vantage point, at my front window, I observe a narrowing microcosm of an already limited world: dog walkers mostly, the occasional landscaping truck, the mail truck much later in the day. By rush hour, neighbors begin to pull their cars into driveways, and disappear inside their houses. This is a tiny island of quiet on a tranquil road, off a larger artery, adjacent to increasing urban sprawl.
Every weekday my son now drives to the high school as I ride in the passenger seat, then take the wheel when he gets out, and I return home to write. This morning, stopped at a light, I watched a walker weave her way through traffic to cross the street. She was in her 50s or 60s, trim and athletic, with a shock of silver hair, a dark jacket, hot pink gloves, and a hot pink scarf. A woman growing older, enjoying her bright color, just as those two little girls delighted in their neon purple sweaters.
My own preference is for red, a color I wear, a color that moves me, a color that punctuates my surroundings. My couch has red cushions, my bed, red pillows, and my closet is filled with red tops and scarves and surprisingly – few red shoes. But my statement of self – visually – is not only about red. There are other colors, contrasts, and textures; there is movement, pattern and lighting, all of which influence what is seen.
A few words on drunken drafts
This week (and into the weekend) the festivities of the Momalom Half-Drunk (writing) Challenge continue. The point is not to be drunk, rather, to let go. Letting go in words, letting go of inhibitions, and for some of us – letting go of things we never said aloud, or never put on the page. In that way, we may release a measure of pain, or discover something. A different perspective. A memory. A revelation, in the act itself of laboring through or fitting together a structure of words.
As a writer, it is a comfortable and uncomfortable place, satisfying and insufficient. And consequently, from the place of insufficiency I find that I want a big, fat, juicy disclaimer – my 1/4 drunk or 1/2 drunk ramblings are drafts!
Re-reading, I am aghast. Not at the content, but sloppy writing and absence of tightening. That said, I will leave those words as they stand: barely edited bits of self. Yes, barely edited bits of self.
- And isn’t that what we put here, as we write to known and unknown readers?
- Are these not other statements of self, even as we retain so much more that you will never see, because we hold it close, as is appropriate for each of us in our own way, privately?
Other threads: One
I have the honor and pleasure of having been asked by Tish Jett of A Femme d’un Certain Age to do some book picks for the holidays. You can find them on her delicious site spilling over with goodies and a French twist. Tish writes on all things of taste and style, as an expat American and long-time journalist who lives in France. I adore Tish’s point of view, her wry, dry humor, and the style tips I love to see and read as she describes them.
Stop by her place for a few thoughts on holiday books as gift ideas. I hope you will enjoy the change of pace; you will certainly see other “statements of self” about me, in what I love to read, and what I would love for you to discover. Magical, sexy, funny, surprising books. Then, do visit Tish often. I know I always feel welcome there, and you will as well.
Other threads: Two
I pop into the HTML behind these writings, to tweak a few things here and there. As I was inserting my little copyright link and share/save image, I couldn’t help but notice an HTML command that said OnMouseOut.
I just had to laugh. As for the mouse in my kitchen, if only it were that easy!
Other threads: Three
I plan on one more “drunken” post for the lovely moms (and dads) at Momalom. (About 1/4-drunk, thank you very much). As a solo parent, my opportunities for even one glass of wine are limited (that 24/7 on-call thing). So, my best shot (ho ho) at a final Writing Under the Influence draft will be a morning indulgence that wears off by afternoon, when I resume responsible Mom duty.
I will save whatever pours out of the fingertips in today’s writing (soon), but publish either tonight or tomorrow. Those words, unknown at this time, will be a statement of self. But all these bits and pieces we are sharing are pieces of a whole that is moving and changing constantly. We should feel entitled to that ebb and flow, to our beautiful flaws, our comical moments, our indiscretions and lapses in judgment coexisting, without judgment, alongside more polished presentations of ideas, emotions, and action recaps.
Our unedited thoughts are offered as raw precisely for that quality, be they brutal, sad, sentimental, sexy, silly; dislodged from a deeper place (or at least a less protected one). But remember – these are never ourselves in entirety. They are our purple sweaters and pink gloves, our red pillows on the bed.
Sharing fragments and confidences is lovely and connective. Our words bring us closer to each other, and we feel less alone in our emotions and experiences. But these are glimpses into a life, not a life; we offer what we say, what we do not say, and the interpretation of both, which is up to you. I find that knowledge reassuring, and worthy of celebration.
© D A Wolf