Happy Sunny-versary

My baby has been neglected lately. No not the real one, she is getting plenty of attention. That’s my point. When the care levels of the kid increase (necessarily) my time and headspace for writing decreases. I miss it. To be neglectful even when busy is poor form. To do so on Sunshine’s birthday feels wrong.

Four years ago I took and deep breath and published my first post. It can be confronting putting my words out there for anyone to see but the support of you fine folk out there has spurred me on. Over the last four years 5393 visitors have taken a staggering 8702 views of my blogs. I am proud to say I have made over a century with 105 published posts (and many drafts laying idle…oops).

Happy 4th Sunny-versary little Sunshine in Puddles. May the second half of this year bring you more thoughts and musings…I can only try.

Zinging

You should make something. You should bring something into the world that wasn’t in the world before. It doesn’t matter what it is. It doesn’t matter if it’s a table or a film or gardening-everyone should create. You should do something, then sit back and say, ‘I did that.’ ” Ricky Gervais

This quote sang to me… Fat Mum Slim has a way of choosing and writing words that resonate. Often her posts encompass the joy and challenges of parenthood in a way that make me yell “what she said” at my screen. She may not be in the “special needs” club but I still feel she gets it. Whether you have a child who has a diagnosis or is painfully shy or has allergies or is a red head {{yes I can say it…I love a red headed monkey}} parenting can be a tough gig. Yes, I am a parent by choice. I am a carer because…life.

I think of the “caring” part of my role as a job. A full-time-unrelenting-but-rewarding job. There is always something to do. But that’s the point it’s all doing and no creating. I, like so many others, am always busy with important but repetitive tasks. There is a lot of thinking  and much feeling the pressure to not forget that feed/medication/appointment or whatever it may be…but not a lot to expand and develop the old brain. And certainly very little opportunity to sit back and admire a creation. Unless you count the kids themselves! Washing keeps getting dirty, continence requirements need to be met, phone calls made and emails sent, and driving, driving…I’m always driving. So, without actually making a resolution, this year I plan to mix it up.

I hope to find enough time and head space to write…and take photos…and do the odd bit of sewing. My goal has begun well {there may be a little sarcasm in that}. I am back in the swing of the Photo a Day challenge…if not a bit behind and publishing weekly. I started to sew a lovely kimino cardy just for me…yes, started. The writing though. This very draft has sat, partly written for a few weeks now. So I am fully immersed in the irony of my blog…and my goal.

But I shall push on because there is something about the creative process that I need. Maybe we all do.  The possibility of new brain synapses zinging and left and right side creating harmonies is worth my time. Time just for me off task and smiling.  I AM about to press the old “publish” button so that’s a win!

Getting the writing written

So to be a writer you need to write, right? Right. I haven’t been. There has not been much in the way of time…or head space. So I shall endeavour to improve.  Writing to Inspire offers daily prompts with which to flex ones creative muscle. Here is todays efforts. The prompt was….”Three words to include in a story: answer machine, operator, memory.”

 

 

The red light blinked. Tiny but menacing. He stood and began to walk toward it. Then slowed and veered into the kitchen. But she was here too. He recognised her in the neatly labelled jars of flour, sugar and spices. He smelt her in the feint waft of beef dripping as he opened the cold oven. The memory of her was imbedded in the kitchen within its floral walls and wispy curtains. He sighed imagining her warmth. Striding with renewed courage he crossed the lounge room threshold but stopped short of the doily covered table. His breathing fell into rhythm with the blink. Each breath as short and shallow as he felt. She had marvelled when he helped her unpack this whizz bang device. “I remember when telephones were all run by an operator at the exchange. This is so fancy.” With her voice in his head he pressed the answer machine button. “Hello loves. I can’t answer your call at the moment. Please leave me a message.” Beeeep… He sat and let the tears fall.