Reflections from my bathroom mirror

Mirror, Bathroom, reflection,Most writers know the feeling. That perfect opening sentence, the great statement, the brilliant vision that gets us fired up to sit right down at a keyboard and record it, before it vanishes.

Unfortunately, for me these bursts of creativity usually occur when I am in the shower, dripping with shampoo.  I don’t know what it is exactly that makes me so witty and well spoken when I am naked and covered in suds, but it happens all the time. It is probably the fact that I am not able to multi-task while bathing, so my thoughts are able to take a straight line, not distracted by the lists and bills and post-its that cover my desk.

Often the spark stays with me long enough that I can polish my stories in my head as I continue my morning routine in front of the bathroom mirror. Oh, those wonderful, eloquent blog posts and articles that I concoct there….sometimes I even tap a line or two into the notes app on my Iphone, or dictate them to Siri while I apply my make-up with the other hand, sure that I will be able to continue later in the day when I am in front of my computer.

The problem is, as the day progresses and I continue on, my genius – as well as my motivation – starts to fade. That perfect story or blog post becomes a bit watered down and fuzzy. The amazing first line falls flat and I am left with just that one sentence. By the time I actually feel  my fingers on the keyboard, the process stalls, the words stop flowing, and I am left with a title or the aforementioned sentence, but nothing more.

It is always interesting to revisit the dated flickers of creativity of my past. The list of possible posts in my phone or the unfinished drafts in my dashboard prove to be an amusing diary of my life.  Sometimes I actually start them up again and come up with something useful. More often I wonder if I should just delete them all and start over.

As I sit here dripping with my hair wrapped in a towel I am simply thankful for the list of topics that my morning shower has cultivated. There is one thing that I do know for sure; if I ever decide to write the ‘Great American Novel’ I really need to stock up on body wash.

I am curious to know how or (even more importantly) where other writers find their inspiration. I would love to hear your stories – please let me know in the comments section!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

And they said it wouldn’t last

newlyweds, wedding, buggy, surry with a fringe on top, just married, just hitched, bride, groomIn 1982 I was 21 years old.  I had not ever seen the ocean or traveled on an airplane.  I had never lived more than 10 miles from my parents’ house.

Since then there have been:

3 children

2 apartments

1 house

15 jobs

11 vehicles

3 dogs

3 cats

1.5 grandchildren

18 trips to Mexico

On September 11, 1982 it was hot and humid. I wore a long-sleeved high-necked dress (not to mention a corset and stockings!) to that little church in Chautauqua, NY. In front of all of our friends and family I married my best friend. The very next day you took me to see the ocean for the first time in a borrowed car using a AAA Trip-tick for directions. I remember being terrified as we walked along the sand and I held fast to the bag that held every dollar we had.

That was only the beginning.

We have lived here on the hill for most of the years since then, and it has been a wild ride at times. We have experienced births and deaths, new jobs and unemployment, graduations, funerals and weddings. We have weathered the tough winters and enjoyed the sunrises over the lake each morning. We have watched each of our daughters leave this place, one by one. I still live less than 10 miles away from my childhood home, but we have traveled the world together.

I wouldn’t trade one minute of the laughter or the tears that we have shared for anything.

Thank you, Jim, for filling the past 32 years of my life with love and care. God has blessed me far more than I ever deserved by bringing us together.

I am amazed at how far we have come.

Love you, Willy.

“Lil”Feet, sand, Mexico, Beer, Beach

Coming Clean

I have a confession to make.

I do not own a dishwasher.

I guess that this is not very common these days, but to me it is normal.  In all of my adult life I have only had one (secondhand, portable) dishwasher. It was messy and sprayed water all over the kitchen. It was cumbersome and loud.  I used its butcher block top for extra counter space for a while and stored my Tupperware cake keeper in it, but I think I used it less than a dozen times.

A conversation that I had recently with an acquaintance went something like this:

She “I could not LIVE without a dishwasher.”

Me “Never really wanted one.”

She (horrified gasp) “That is unimaginable!”

By the tone of her reaction you would have thought that I had said that I preferred an outhouse to indoor plumbing! It is true, though.  In my 30+ years up here on the hill I have wanted many things…a hot tub, a sidewalk, even a bathtub for a time (but that’s another story), but a dishwasher is not one of them.

Another friend whose own dishwasher broke down right before the Thanksgiving holiday one year told me that she couldn’t possibly host the festivities without one.  To her the dishwasher was as important as the oven itself!

Don’t get me wrong – when I was a teenager and washing the dishes was a chore that had to be accomplished before I could slip away to be with friends, I hated the job.  I would do anything to get out of it, including trickery and deceit. I would make promises to my siblings that I never intended to keep so that they would relieve me of the job, and I was quite often successful.

When my own children were growing up washing the dishes and folding the clothes were the two main chores that they had to do each day. They will tell you that if I came home to a sink full of dirty dishes there would be much commotion. It is true that when I was exhausted from a long day at the office and needed the sink for meal preparation, I did not relish the task.

The kitchen sink is the heart of our home. Each member of our family has spent a significant amount of time in front of it.  We’ve bathed our children (and now our grandchild) there, pulled up chairs so that they could help us and taught them to do it on their own.  Thousands of basins of soapy water have been drawn there. My memories contain hours of telephone conversations had while scrubbing and rinsing and drying, watching the seasons pass by through the windows that are situated just above it. Gossip was shared, tears were shed, good news was revealed and bad news received – if only those walls could talk! Long conversations had while cleaning up after large family gatherings – holidays, reunions, graduation parties and even a rehearsal dinner brought friends and family members together long after the meals were finished and the table was cleared.

I remember my mother standing at my sink washing the dishes, even as her health began to fail.  She would bend from the waist, leaning on her elbows as she cleaned each plate and glass and pot.  She taught my sister and me that it was rude to leave someone’s kitchen without offering to help with the dishes, and I know that both of us feel the same way to this day. Sometimes when I am at the sink by myself I catch myself standing the same way she did as my back begins to ache from a long day of preparation and celebration. I smile to myself remembering how important this task was to her.

I would love to have my big country kitchen remodeled. I have thought many times about how I would arrange things, and what kind of cupboards and flooring I might have.  I have added marble counter tops, farmhouse sinks and tile floor coverings to my Pinterest boards, dreaming of how beautiful it might be.  The one thing that I never make room for in my imagination, though, is the dishwasher.  To me it is just unnecessary.

Think of all of those missed opportunities for memory making….

“Unimaginable!”sink, kitchen sink, country kitchen, dishes, doing dishes, chores