Journals and Letters (Oh My)

I've been thinking a lot about writing lately. By this, I mean writing with a pen and paper, versus using the laptop. Years ago, on a coffee date with a friend, we discussed our relationship with writing.  Specifically, we were talking about writing for yourself and not writing related to a profession. We talked about how the simple act of writing can bring about a Zen-like moment that involves being fully in the moment.

I've been a journal writer off and on since I was young. I remember getting my first diary when I was in 1st grade. I was just learning to read and write on my own and I wanted to fill the diary with secret stories. I tried for the first few entries to keep my musings to the prescribed amount of space but found, even then, that once any real writing began, I could not predict the amount of space that would be required. 

I still believe there are benefits to keeping a journal. There are no hard and fast rules. It is a tool you can choose to pick up when you want or need it. 

As I think about my relationship to writing, I remember I was once an avid letter writer. I first became a "letter writer" in the summer after 6th grade. That summer I made friends with Darla who lived in Virginia. this seemed like a long way away to my 6th-grade mind. she was two years older than me and I thought she was quite mature. We decided to stay friends by being pen pals. I don't remember what we wrote, but I remember the joy of getting a letter back from her. There is nothing quite like getting a real letter in the real mailbox.

As an adult, I began to write letters diligently after leaving Virginia Beach. Hubster and I lived there for three years. Our daughter was born there and we moved when she was 18 months. I did not know anyone in the new NC town. (It was not my hometown.) I was lonely for the friendships that I had recently cemented. So, I would write letters or postcards. I found two things to be true. #1: Letter writing can deepen a friendship more deeply than a phone call. One of my friends continued with our deep friendship writing for many years. The letter-writing friendship was also kept fresh by several visits back to see her. I still consider her as a very deep friend. And, #2: I was driven to find fun and exciting things to do during my "regular" non-working life so that I would have something fun and interesting to write about. The adventures made me a better writer AND the writing made me a better adventurer.  This became a key to getting acclimated and finding my niche in this new town.

Looking For Home

I have a friend who doesn't understand why I like to look at houses. I'm not in the market for a house so why do I look at them? I actually go to open houses.  I love to see homes that are staged for sale. I love the minimalism of it. The staging makes me think, "Ah. This is what it would be like to live here. This is what a fresh start looks like." 

Of course, a staged home looks nothing like a house that is lived in. But in a glossy magazine type presentation, the house whispers, "But I could look like this". 

Do I want to live in such a home?  A staged one that wants me to think I could be happy there. Truly, the answer is "no". The homes that make me happy are not perfect. They are beautifully lived in.  I enjoy being in the homes of friends. I like to get a glimpse of how they make a life.

I have a girlfriend who I love to visit. She's an amazing cook and when I'm at her house, we spend a lot of time in her kitchen. I love the open shelving above her stove where her spices live. I love watching her create in the kitchen. She makes it look seamless. She's usually cooking something for later or even just cooking something for me. It's a gift to spend time with her and talk with her while she is cooking. The everyday-ness of our time together is anything but mundane. 

Another friend comes to mind when I think about "home". I met Lynn when our daughters were in the same daycare. The first Christmas we were at the daycare, Lynn had a cookie party and Danielle and I were invited. When we arrived, tables were set with plates of sugar cookies just waiting for kids to adorn. The tables had all kinds of sugars and icings set out so the kids could decorate (and eat) cookies to their hearts' content. Parents were not expected to stay. But, of course, I stayed. I wanted to watch the fun and I wanted to get to know Lynn. 

My cuz is also great at making you feel at home. I remember sitting on her couch one Thanksgiving evening. The big meal had come and gone. We were all snacking with plates on her laps and watching a football game. I fell in love with Cathy's snacks, especially the pigs in a blanket. She made them with cornbread and link sausages. That kind of yumminess feels like home. We curled up on the couch and visited. it was just that kind of day.

My own kitchen feels like I'm a nomad. I only have enough snacks to get through the next football game. 

This is my first apartment without my love. He has never seen it. The apartment is filled with things I bought after the move. Things like a new couch, a new TV, a new table. Jordan would have liked it. When I first moved in I couldn't stop crying. I ached as I started to build some sort of life alone.

I love this apartment. It's the perfect size and layout. Oddly, I never completely made it home. I came close...but never hung a single picture.  I did get excellent help to organize which went a super long way to making a home. But, I just didn't finish. 

Next month I will move again. Just two years after moving into this apartment.  This move is another milestone of sorts. I'm moving much closer to work. This is something I resisted. I will be in a town I've never lived in before. This should ease the stress of commuting.  I will need more help to feel settled.  And, I really must hang my pictures.