It's a mystery that I ever chose a profession like TV news with constant pressure and air-tight deadlines, and a minor miracle that I ever managed to meet those deadlines and get my stories on the air. Because left to my own devices without outside deadlines, I'm hopeless. Always running behind. Behind in paying bills. In remembering birthdays. Meeting someone for lunch. Making airline reservations. And now...I'm starting to fall behind in my blog. Not on the deadlines, but on the lag between blog time and real life.
If you're following, you might expect to be reading something about the healing retreat last weekend. Carol stayed, but I actually I left the retreat a day early to go away overnight with 3 friends. This getaway was planned months ago (obviously not by me) as a 50th birthday celebration.
Happy 50th Birthday, Trudy!
Anytime friends take the time to slow down and get away from the world and savor incredibly delicious food and take in the physical beauty of the planet and enjoy each other's company---has to be considered healing-- so, in a sense, I attended two healing retreats this weekend.
But you can see what I mean about the time lag. The first retreat stimulated a lot of thinking and ideas which will come out in this blog in a random way when I circle back to them sometime later....which is an example of how things don't neatly fall into place...which is the story of my life....which means that this blog will not always follow along a neat track with my real life.
Although I've tried to keep them on parallel lines, nothing about me is linear. Or orderly. I think my brain must be missing a few pieces-- cells that are normally used to line things up in organized ways.
V has a normal orderly mind. He does strategic planning and I see him sit down with a yellow pad and magically, right out of his brain comes a logically organized list or chart. Nothing like that has ever come out of my brain. I haven't made an outline or chart since high school. Even my shopping lists have crossouts and inserts and stuff in the margins and look something like the first draft of some wierd rap song.
It's no accident that my mosaics look like crazy quilts. Or that this crazy quilt is hanging in our bedroom. Because a crazy quilt is a perfect metaphor for me. And probably, predictably, for my blog.
So to anyone with a linear brain who expects followup from one day to the next--the phone book will be far more orderly than my blog. On the other hand, V has stuck by me, and after all these years, he thinks there are some advantages to a crazy quilt wife. V has learned to enjoy the random, dramatic and unexpected. He said the house was too quiet while I was gone. And even though within 5 minutes of arriving home, I left the water running in the sink while I was in the shower, and managed to flood the bathroom, V said he was really happy I'm back home. And even though I loved being at both of my retreats, so am I.
Comments