Virginia Woolf claimed every woman just needed a room of one's own to write. I partially agree, but mostly disagree. For decades, I never had a room to my own. I had a notebook and that was enough. Today, my space would not qualify as a room, but rather a nook in my dank basement. But, the location doesn't matter. I've made the best of the situation, filling it with things that matter to me, inspire me, and make me smile. In the event that anyone cares, which I'm sure they do not, and truth be told I have some writing deadlines looming and I'm a bit backed up with writer's block, thought I'd share a list:
1. My stepfather's Cross pens and pencils. They are heavy not only with the metal from which they are made, but with memories. He always told me that he believed someday, I'd be a writer.
2. A paperweight I gave my stepfather years ago, a picture of him and I in San Francisco, a favorite of mine.
3. My tea pot and my great grandmother's tea cup.
4. My great grandfather's desk. I loved this man deeply and can still remember him sitting at this desk paying bills or reading Robert Brown's poetry.
5. A placard my kids made me with their picture and a saying, "everything we are you helped us to be." Believe me, I could say the same to them.
6. A picture of my brother. One I took without him knowing, the backdrop a bright pink sky. That picture is one I look at everyday and know no matter how much my heart aches for him, if I open myself up enough, he's there. Some blurry vision of him, set against the vast emptiness of his death.
7. A polariod of my wedding day. We spent a fortune on a photographer and our favorite picture from that day is this polaroid our Justice of the Peace snapped. Go figure.
8. My college degree. I worked hard for that damn piece of paper. I plugged away for 13 years, one class at a time while working and mothering. That degree arrived 2 days before I gave birth to Oliver, making it that much sweeter.
9. Random things that inspire me. Butterflies, feathers, words, typewriters, poetry.
10. A picture of Madonna at Doon's Well in Ireland. I'm not religious at all, but I've always been drawn to the Madonna, not on a spiritual level, it's nothing I can really explain, to be honest. And, to make it that more special, friend, with whom I admire and share a birthday with took the photo. Women--flawed, saintly, angelic, honest-- inspire me.
A random post from where I sit today, a mixture of history, memories, and hopes for the future tucked inside what used to be a servant's bedroom. In the quiet of the silence, I spend my time daydreaming of the stories that lie within the nooks and crannies of these walls. Thanks for reading, my friends, and I hope this weekend brings sunshine and laughter.