The memoir is nearing completion. Writing sometimes eight hours a day has pretty much used up my quotient of words although I do every morning warm up my mind by writing in my journal with my beloved Sarasa pen, here pictured. I read an article in the New York Times Magazine from a writer who’d discovered the perfect pen for left-handed people, which I am, a Uni-ball Signo, and decided I had to try it, and did, both the medium point and the bold, but the bold too bold and the medium to light and so it was back to Sarasa. That’s how exciting my life is.
The most exciting thing that happened was that I found a machine with a USB port that would read my old letters off the 3 1/2″ disks from my first Windows computer back in the mid-90s and no doubt have meaningful and important information for me to study since I quit saving copies of my letters except in electronic files once I got the computer, letters which I wrote a lot of and which contain essential daily information since my journals seem to consist mostly of dreams and books I was reading. The mid-90s my time of attending St. John’s College graduate program followed by seminary. A four-year period in there where I basically read books and wrote papers.
Writing a memoir is sort of like excavating an archaeology dig, not that I’m a mummy, but rather that tantalizing memory trails lead to realizations I forgot I had learned.
My life is certainly simpler now. Then, I read and wrote and journaled and taught college writing and college public speaking, and served at church, and participated in healing services, and learned healing from the Bishop, and, as an added treat, raised my nine-year-old and then ten-year-old for successive summers. Now I just write. And exercise. And text my grandson who is now a young man in college after spending ten years in the Navy.
The first time he attended a healing service he was nine years old. He told me he saw dragons following me as I lay on hands. He thought that was pretty cool. He also said he could make the stop lights change to green and demonstrated, holding up his hands toward the light ahead until it turned green just as we reached it. That’s the kind of kid he was. Now he’s studying to be a healer, or as the real world calls it, an RN or a PA. He hasn’t decided.
Then, Cliff was my mentor in seminary and taught me to be a priest. Now, he’s my husband and teaches me love. He’s willing to teach extra courses so I can stay home and write. Sometimes I clean house or go shopping. I’m a housewife. But mostly I write.
What a gift.
So while I have not disappeared, I’m perilously thin in my blogging.
But Written on the Reverse: a love story is jest fine. Thanks for asking.