Okay, this is kind of goofy. I want to offer a writing day on February 14th (and maybe the 15th and the 16th, too). But I’m not sure where it might be or if it might need to just be online.
I told you it was a bit goofy. But after our extraordinary experience at the Joshua Tree retreat in November, I had a dream telling me to do the next one on Valentine’s Day. I let myself get swept up in life, and I didn’t pursue this, but I still want to honor the dream even if it’s much belated.
So. Please save the date(s) if you’d like to do a nice long chunk of writing together (true stories, creative nonfiction prompts, lovely camaraderie, laughter).
Stay tuned. I will let you know if I find a space for us, or if this will be something we can do online together. Oh, and maybe let me know if you are interested. Not sure what we might be able to pull together at such short notice, but you never know. And it’s a holiday weekend, too!
Sending good wishes to each of you for this and for 2020!
I wake to snow on the mountains, cold, clean air. I don’t have to work until later, so I pretend it’s a day off. I move through it with ease and delight, the farmer’s market, the library, trimming the bougainvillea, luxurious winter sun salutes in the courtyard. Divine.
[30 of 30 in November, re-posted from today’s tweet @tryingmywings]
Yes, I goofed, so I am posting my last three on this last day of November!
Kat sends me home from the retreat with a jar of her divine vegan gravy. I make stuffing. Mushrooms, garlic, Asian pear, walnuts, my odd pancakes for the bread. For a moment I flash on being selfish, not sharing. I shake my head. I feel good tending to myself with care.
Winter yoga now in the courtyard, afternoon sun. Today two mockingbirds dance nearby. Courtship or play? I shade my eyes, watching from my mat. It’s the first time they’ve visited. I dream of late-night serenades from the bougainvillea. Good omens for things to come.
Pink glow above the rim of my dark mountain, sparrows still calling in the late dusk. Cozy at home, I let the day be tender. Shame arises in the wake of the retreat. My sin of interrupting looms large. But this healing is newly balanced, too, by my awe and my delight.
When did I last feel this way? Saturated, as if I can’t absorb one iota more, almost goofy with it, punch-drunk. But I don’t pull myself away from the discussion, don’t want to miss the moment, drawn to these people, swimming in this rich, lively human broth together.
Downtown, early morning, I see my bus coming. Just before it gets to me a cement truck blocks the bus stop. All at once, my worst fear flashes, not getting to the retreat in time. But here I am, late at night, a good, good day behind us. Bone deep tired. But oh so glad.