Wednesday, July 29, 2009

There's a Metaphor Here. I Can Smell It.

Aaaaaaah. It's one of those perfect moments of motherhood - I've got a load of sheets spinning away in the laundry room, in fresh, sudsy water so hot the sun from the window over my kitchen sink's catching and playing with wisps of steam escaping around the washer's lid. Behind me in the family room, Bean and Peabody sit perched on two wooden chairs, side by side, as close as they can be, eatin' dry Cheerios and watchin' Arthur. I've got hot coffee in my mug, my laptop on my fingertips, and a minute - and I do mean a minute, and that's all, knowing these two - to myself.

I should take this time to write about the time we spent down South for my sweet mother-in-law's funeral. Almost every night I lie awake for a time, just turning the vivid and powerful images and details of those days over and over in my mind, trying to get at each of them from every angle. What I saw, and heard, and felt and connected with in those moments feels on some level, inside of me, like it needs unlocking -- like I need to sit down and work at the experience like a tight, dense knot, gradually pulling loose a thread, looking for its beginning and its end, loosening this, following that, until I've unraveled every bit, smoothed it out and lined it up neatly again. I talked about it all with Al, with my Mom, with friends, and yet somehow what I believe lies at the heart of it all -- some deep, rich, amazing wisdom, growth, some vastly important understanding -- continues to elude me.

Do y'all get that? Have you ever experienced anything that went by in a blur but was so blindingly meaningful to you that when it was over you immediately carried within you a change undefinable, so that you felt compelled, driven even, to sort out all the complexities and scrutinize them until you understand WHAT JUST HAPPENED HERE?

That's where I am these days. Inside my own head. On a bit of a mental and emotional island.

Wow. That sounds so overwrought, doesn't it?

Anyway but I won't write about it yet. Can't. Don't have even the first thread pulled loose enough to show you.

But I'm definitely pining to write again and reconnect and be, I don't know, a "blogger?" At least a writer. Again. A part of the community again. A sharer of myself. A part of life. I suppose I'm afraid maybe I'm not who I used to be anymore. I'm not sure if I'm still meant to be funny. I'm not sure if I'm capable. I'm not sure if I even deserve the luxury.

Oh, but this really IS a beautiful moment. A beautiful, light moment with you -- maybe a moment away from the island, or maybe just a moment when I can see my way, in the distance, off the island.

OHMYGRANNY. Now that really does sound overwrought.

But the sheets are clean.

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  1. Just thought of you this morning while I was smearing on my Eucerin lotion! :)
    Oh continue letting your experience simmer in your heart and head...but also maybe talk about it with someone else (I know you've been over it with your hubby).
    I am sometimes knocked over while talking in a stream of consciousness kind of way, what truths make their way to the top...
    I came over from your tweet by the way :)
    All Things Heart and Home

  2. Yep.

    I know those experiences. It can take a while to unravel. But it's worth it.

    I assume you journal? It was always the best way for me to look at things from all angles.

    (I use the past tense because blogger has displaced journaling for me, and that's a crying shame.)

  3. Those experiences are the ones that mean the most, as you pull each thread of memory. Take the time, it is so worth it.

    I take your posts as they come, loving each one. Each is a glimpse into the woman you have turned into since Peabody was born. Each gives us a chance to get to know you all over again, this wonderful Mama that loves with such devotion.

    Blog what you feel, think enjoy. We will be here.

  4. I'm loving your image of the knot that needs to be's so accurate and descriptive of those experiences. I'm afraid life moves on before I can unravel them sometimes. Great post.

  5. No - not overwrought, just normal. I think you described those feelings so well - I've felt that knot before also and needed to go back and revisit things over and over to unravel it.
    I like the thought of you in your happy home, laundry being done, kids watching Arthur. Thanks for that sweet view into your life!

  6. And what an amazing "blogger" and writer you are. You just have a way of putting your words together so beautifully and they just make sense to me.

  7. Readers are still here. You are still there, and any changes are likely just an intensified version of You.

    I still love reading how you articulate life experiences. Your knot metaphor is something I can really relate to. Still one of my favorite blogs.

    Nate's Mom

  8. Happy Thursday Megan!!

    I enjoy knowing about your beautiful moments! Miss you!!

    xoxo Julie

  9. I've missed you writing every day. I'm sure that ANYTHING you write will be well received as you are an amazingly talented writer. Love you!