Sunday, March 1, 2015

Whistling in the Wind



     One summer long ago, we took our girls to see their grandparents in Southern California. We drove down the Coast Highway from Washington to see the dynamic ocean views and stopped in Pacific Grove on Monterey Bay to spend the night. After checking into our suite at a bed and breakfast, we went for a walk around town to look at the charming bayside cottages. We stopped at one cottage to admire a row of polished geodes displayed in the windows. The old woman who lived in it noticed us standing on the sidewalk and invited us in to see the rest of her collection. Little did we know what a treat was in store for us. She had an extensive collection of geodes, rocks and fossils stuffed into her small home and a wealth of knowledge to share. We took turns sitting in her chair of petrified wood as she shared her stories with us. She had traveled the world to find her treasures and had been to shows all over the country displaying them.

     Even though her collection of fossils and rocks was incredible, I was even more impressed by the strength of the old woman's passion and her eagerness to share it with others. I would like to have known her better.

     I am not someone who wants to escape ageing or cheat death. On most days, I am fine with the natural order of things. I aim to go gently into that good night and have no wish to rage against the dying of the light. But as I enter this last quarter of my life, I also intend to resist the temptations of passivity. As this body of mine begins to wither on the vine, the spirit within is still ripe and full of juice. So I write. Squeeze the spirit to let the juice out. Labor to distill the juice into something fruitful and fine.

     I think it has been plain since my first blog post three years ago that stories are my passion, my rocks and fossils, and I am eager to share them here and elsewhere. More than likely, at this stage of my life, it will only be the occasional passerby who will stop on the sidewalk to peer in my window, but my passion for writing is not diminished by the lack of an audience. Indeed, I feel more compelled to write stories now than ever before, and if it turns out to be nothing more than whistling in the wind, as long as I am still able to string a coherent collection of words together and read them on a page, I will have been buoyed by the passion and joy of it.

9 comments:

  1. why am i crying?! oh yes, because this is so lovely. Never stop sharing your gift of being able to blend just the right words to paint a picture! There is a beauty that Experience lends and youth cannot begin to grasp!

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    1. You are such a dear girl, Janet Martin. I do wish I could sit at your table and watch you write poetry. Might I have a second cup of tea, please?

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    2. :) Speaking of tea...I picked up a flavor at Winners that I have never tried before called Ice-wine tea. I'll put the kettle on and we'll share a pot, shall we?

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  2. Thank you for this post, I needed it and am printing it out.

    So just like the woman who invited strangers inside her house, you have shared your feelings here, not knowing that the effect they might have.

    Good work.

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    1. It was your post on Phila Hach that kindled this memory for me. I think the best kind of inspiration is the kind that goes both ways.

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    2. I just hit the 'like' button to this comment!

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  3. Beautifully written. It made me think of the power of stories to linger long after we're gone and also, how we don't always realise who we touch with our words.

    Keep writing! =)

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  4. You do have a way with words that I so enjoy. I feel the same way about writing it is my release and my joy - how lucky we are to have this passion - life with passion is a life well spent.

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  5. Wonderful, keep writing, music for the soul! A beautiful memory, I can feel the passion too. Thank you Nib..

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