Waiting is tiring. Waiting is a royal pain in the butt. Waiting for the worse possible news is draining and physically painful. Waiting, for this writer, is when I am driven to the pen and paper. The need to put words to paper or charcoal to sketch is what keeps me sane during a time I want to shout and rage.
I’m reminded of those in my life who have encouraged me, who have enabled my book addiction and need for self-expression.
My parents never said no to a book. I may not have been given those designer jeans or that Barbie, but ask for a book and it was given to me.
The joke between my grandmother and I was, how many Nancy Drew or Hardy Boys books I read that weekend. Best time was four in one weekend. I still have those books…is it because they opened the mystery world to me or because of the grandparent memory?
I have been told two second-cousins used to write poetry, like me. My dad would doodle and draw. I had an uncle who could build anything, so my dad told me.
My mom and grandfather were puzzle people, the jigsaw puzzle. And, whatever you do don’t hand my mom those block puzzle pieces.
Anyone ever build playing card houses? Yup, that was an early game between my cousins and me. Stack them high or build out and wide it never mattered.
Creating and growing a garden. Mom was the vegetables and dad the roses.
Mr. Thwaites, one of my high school English teachers. He told me once to go and sit in a darkened room with just an enough light to see the paper and pen point…now write, don’t think, just write.
Mr. Mills, high school art teacher (oh I hope I’m remembering his name correctly) I still can’t draw a straight line without a ruler, but contour drawing is my favourite starting point.
I wish I remembered my high school drama teacher’s name, she had a Quiet Chris and a Shy ____ in her class, but my expression found a voice.
Mr. St. John, Latin teacher. Thankfully, he didn’t laugh when reading my reason for taking Latin…I wanted to know what it was, what was so great and special about Latin. Oh, for the love of words.
And, still my heart belongs to GREEN EGGS AND HAM and driving my grandmother crazy with insisting she read it every single visit…by the way, we lived just up the street, so you can guess how many times a week (day?) this request was heard.
I’m still waiting for the phone call, but the memories have calmed me. Be an encourager, an enabler, someone will be forever thankful.
That was lovely. Brought back many wonderful memories. I had a grandmother who read to me. Often. My usual request was "Happiness is…" by Charles Schultz. Lots of Dr. Seuss, too. She made me believe I could do anything. Thanks for the reminder.
More than welcomed and Thank You. My wish is for my daughter to believe she can do anything, too.