“I never dreamed of being Shakespeare or Goethe, and I never expected to hold the great mirror of truth up before the world; I dreamed only of being a little pocket mirror, the sort that a woman can carry in her purse; one that reflects small blemishes, and some great beauties, when held close enough to the heart.” ~Peter Altenberg
So writing … blogging … putting words together in coherent sentences … that someone else might want to read …
No, not today. Strangely enough not for the last couple of weeks.
Sixteen years ago we started renovating the home we live in. It was old. It needed serious help. We spent our days, nights, weekends, vacations, … ever waking minute of our lives renovating. Tearing out old walls, shoveling plaster, hanging drywall, climbing ladders, caulking windows, and on and on and on.
Until one day we realized that we never did anything else.
Our preschool age son could bang a hole in a wall, push the wheelbarrow, and paint baseboards like a pro but he’d never seen a train or a baseball game. We knew we had to slow down.
Problem was, we weren’t done.
And sixteen years later, we still aren’t done. I’ve grown weary of looking at all the unfinished projects. Trim molding leaning behind doors, ceiling fixtures lingering in open boxes, shelving built but not stained, cabinets with no doors … I could go on. So I decided that the house was going to be finished by Christmas this year even if it killed us.
Re-tiling a bathroom, however, doesn’t leave much time for getting words on the page. Grouting is messy and tiring. Painting takes time to dry between coats. And the trim … still isn’t hung.
So, for now, my tales linger in my dreams as I fall asleep at night and wake me in the mornings begging to be told. I assure them that I will be back soon. Very soon, my dears.