SUBSTANTIALLY

If one is substantially together, are they well-grounded? (Does that even make sense?)

food for thought:  “Beware lest you lose the substance by grasping at the shadow.”—Aesop

Funny...

Dear Mom,

I decided after this letter, that my writing to you might be less frequent. All that talk about following your dreams has me thinking I need to work harder in pursuing my goal—my dream. I’ll keep you informed.

I have four books that sit unfinished. I have a complete rough draft for two, and the other two won’t take much to have a complete draft, but the real work is in the rewriting, revising, and editing. It seems as soon as I’m near the end with one story, I start another thinking it will help me finish the last one. I’m wondering if this isn’t just an excuse. Or a deep hidden fear. I’ve decided to work right through the fear—wherever it takes me. Having made that decision, I signed up for the Missouri Writers’ Guild conference, “Just Write” taking place April 8-10.

All—okay, almost all—socializing will be put on hold until after the conference. I have work to do!

It’s funny, I make a decision to do something—especially focusing on my writing—and more ideas come to surface. Even though this makes no sense to me to start another blog when I’m telling you my letter writing will be less frequent, I’ve learned to listen to that inner voice regardless of how ridiculous it seems.

Lynn, What’s for Dinner? popped in my head after a conversation with my friend Kim. It’s haunted me ever since. I’ll be killing two birds with one stone. Wait, that’s really an awful saying isn’t it? I’d never kill one bird with a stone, much less two. The purpose of what I’m doing is twofold: writing and figuring out what’s for dinner. As an added bonus, I’m helping others figure out what to have, if they desire.

There are other What’s for Dinner blogs out there so it’s not an original idea like I had first thought, but mine will have it’s own unique style.

I’m sure I’ve learned to cook through osmosis from you, and I’ll be sharing some of your dinner ideas that I remember when I was little.

Check out Lynn, What’s for Dinner? (lynnowhatsfordinner.blogspot.com). Follow me daily or any time you need an idea about what to have for dinner.

Bon Appetite!

Follow Your Dream

Dear Mom,

I’ve often wondered if you ever had a dream of wanting to do something other than being a housewife. I’ve asked your sister once if she knew and she was pretty sure that you wanted to be a housewife and that was it. And that’s not bad mind you, as I love being a housewife myself, but I also have other dreams—being a published writer... of a book. Books. Right now I’m settling for plain writer.

What about when you were little? For instance, I had dreams of being a famous ballerina, a drummer in a band like Ringo of the Beatles, and also a pianist. Although I always loved writing letters even back then, being a writer never entered my head. I’m only guessing I felt it took more intelligence that I didn’t think I had. Not that those other dreams didn’t require intelligence, I was just clueless.

But along the way, I found my dreams being crushed and I finally gave in to listening to Dad to become a secretary. As you know he came from the era where women didn’t need a career because they’d marry and have babies. But if one did have to work, then secretary seemed the likely solution, so secretary it was.

Those skills proved beneficial now as a writer—organization, typing, multi-tasking, patience with men. Oh wait, that’s not required for writing or is it?

I have an idea why I didn’t pursue my dreams—couldn’t see beyond to think out of the box. It was easier for me to blame someone else. But I finally woke up and knew it was my responsibility. I decided I wasn’t going to let the same thing happen with my children.

I'd tell them: You have a dream? I'm behind you but you have to work at it, follow it, feed it, allow it to grow. I can't do it for you. No one can make it happen but you. If you want it bad enough, you’ll figure out a way despite anyone or anything. And, do what you love!

I feel like they all are doing just that.

Mom, if your dream was to be a housewife, then I’m happy it was fulfilled. God knows you excelled at it. But if it wasn’t and deep down somewhere you longed to do something else, then a piece of me is sad for you. And that inspires me all the more to fulfill my own dreams.

Dreams

Dear Mom,

Your granddaughter Rita had a dream that my husband died and I was in a panic as I had nowhere to live and possibly no money. She said she was crying all through her dream, obviously saddened by it. I think she worried that it might come true. I think the dream was trying to tell her something. Dreams are individual and not necessarily for other people—yes? No?

Do you remember when I asked you in the dream state if you would help Dad cross over to the other side? It felt like Dad was ready to go and yet he was hanging on for some reason. I figured since you were already there, maybe you could give him a hand.

In the dream Dad was driving and you were the passenger. Warren and I were sitting in the back seat. Dad was drunk and obnoxious. You sat there quietly like you could have cared less. I pushed you on the shoulder and said, “Why are you taking this?” You just shrugged. Then I yelled at Dad, “How can you be so mean? Here’s Mom and you’re acting like a jerk.” We stopped, got out of the car and everyone went their merry way—only I said, “I’m driving myself from now on.”

As I wrote the dream down, I knew it meant that everyone decides for themselves when it’s time to move on. It wasn’t for you to help Dad along. He had to make that decision.

Dreams can be interesting, don't you think?

Reading, Dreams, and Poetry

Dear Mom,

I don’t remember you ever reading, but you did crossword puzzles. To me, that’s harder.

Last night before I went to sleep I finished Meet Me: Writers in St. Louis by Catherine Rankovic. Excellent book. I had no idea we’re so fortunate to have so many writers from St. Louis. My reading list just got longer.

I also listened to Sightlines by Janet Riehl. It touches your heart in so many ways, and what a beautiful tribute to her family.

Then I read a chapter from Stranger by the River by Paul Twitchell.

I knew when I went to sleep, traveling to other places, writing—particularly poetry—would surface. And sure enough as I entered back into semi-consciousness, here’s what I heard:

Pounding head!
I stay wrapped in the covers.
My bladder demands more attention—
slither out of bed,
drag my body,
feet shuffling like my Parkinson’s Dad,
back and hip hurt too,
shoulder has a kink,
eyes less than a slit.
This cleanse gives you energy?
Hurry up coffee maker!