This is not a good thing.

     The following quote from my calendar book seems appropriate:

"Good judgement comes from experience, and experience comes from bad judgements" -Barry LePatner

     Yeah.  i know :(

     i have been doing some more reading and prep work for "the project".  Last night i actually wrote down a few lines.   They seemed pretty weak to me, but i've been told that i shouldn't worry about the beginning.  Getting started is the most important part.  i still don't have a feeling of connectedness about it yet, and that worries me.  Aren't i supposed to have some sort of direction to be working towards?  Do writers get this huge plot in their heads and then take it and form it into something readable they can share?   Or does the adventure just play itself out and the direction presents itself chapter by chapter. 

     i feel like i am in dangerous, unexplored territory here.  It's intimidating.  But if i can load up a van and change 21 years of my life, then i can tackle this as well.  Right?

     Right?

     Hopefully there isn't a time limit on this creativity i have somewhere in this aging body of mine.  i am suffering from visions of sitting in my rocking chair in front of the computer, cobwebs draped about me  as, in a feeble voice, i manage to croak out;  "i'm finished, Master."  And i give Him my best toothless grin.  God!  

     i think i need more pep talks from my author-friend heart.  She's pretty good with me, and even better at using the old cattle-prod on my head.  

     Oh.  i just remembered something.   Since losing Madame Butterfly, i have been keeping better contact with my younger sister.  It is still not perfect, but much, much better than ever before.  We have begun sending emails to each other and sharing bits of news.  i am enjoying this very much. 

     Last week, i sent her the journal post that i had written about her visit, months ago.  i didn't hear from her for a few days.  i began to worry that perhaps i had offended her.  The worry was unfounded.  She sent me an email that was so honest and brave, that i had to struggle not to cry.  And maybe i should have.   Maybe if she and i had been allowed to express how we felt about life, all those years ago, we would not have lost all the hours between now and then.   i am determined not to waste any more of them.   

     The following is my sister's reply, and i hope that she understands how important it was for me to receive it.  i also hope that she doesn't mind my sharing of her words; i think there is something to be learned within them.  They touched me deeply.

Lord knows mom never showed me any real affection during the formative years of say 10 upwards. I just realized recently that she was somewhat in a kind of jealous awe of me. Because i dance to my own music that she couldn't hear. I was always in awe of you- i was the big one, the clumsy one, the studious o-so-serious one. I was the one that lived everyones expectations, did their bidding, and yet was pranced around like some kind of showhorse. That would be a clydesdale. You were the lively one, having traveled, married, had the kids, divorced, married again and living THAT lifestyle that everyone talked about but no-one understood. Somehow it all seemed so radical while i was, well, boring.

My gregarious nature was born of shyness and a certain amount of humour in myself, at myself. and i've always been a caretaker, so hugs and kisses come out before i think. I have no real talents to speak of so over the years i've emerged into the earth mother role. It's my form of rebellion against a very unsatisfying and turmulunt uprising. And surprisingly i find comfort in this person i wake up in everyday. So the small light seen within is what warms my path every day, and the flicker along the way adds new direction.

I do recall the soap by the way- it was shaped like a lifesaver and was very good. And i do remember the visit- cheese and all. It must have left an impact on me as well, as i dont remember recent events well. I dont find you reserved, just uncomfortable with your own expression of emotions. You just have to let the gypsy blood flow a bit more. on that note i shall let you go.

Thanks, T"

     i just want to hug her.

February 1, 2000