The Importance of a Good Book


I’ve got to ask: Which book(s) changed your life? The power of the word is remarkable. I can think of several titles that continue to stick with me for a variety of reasons. This post isn’t about the titles. It’s about the magic.

Where do you want to go? Open the book and find out. It’s NEVER where you first imagined. It’s the going in with expectations and the coming out with no cares in the world that make reading the fount of the soul.

Which way will I go next? I have no clue, and I can’t wait!

Advertisements

Within minutes I must return


to the place where mayhem reigns. Not even a sentence and the sound of chaos enters. Here one, then another. Soon two more.

I had a full day. I had an unscheduled day. Had.

Teen three made plans. Teen three needed a ride. Teen two needed to send something that I had to rush. Teen one wanted to shop. Husband wanted to walk. Friend needed a reminder she is not alone. I needed to write. Wanted. Needed.

The words in my jar of possibilities wait. I know them. They will be sewn together nicely…tomorrow. For now, this will have to do. Have. To do.

Hoarding privacy and the protection of self


I have a confession. My three teens do not know the name of my blog. It is killing them. They have tried to dodge around the screen to catch something, anything. I’m too quick. They have tried to circumvent my authority and nudge friends and acquaintances who they assume know the name of my blog and whom they perceive to be weaker and compliant. They underestimate the wisdom of age.

I enjoy this.

It makes my blog dangerous. They are threatened. I am mindful. They are curious. I am content. My self is protected in this sanctuary called 3teensmom. All is good.

According to my eldest, though, all is not good. In fact, this blog, this blathering of ideas is an assault on my privacy and contentions. Yes, moments ago I was being schooled by eldest teen on the perversity of sharing one’s words with the world. Doing so, you know, removes oneself from the words’ validity. If I speak my mind, I devolve my feelings unto the oblivion called blog-o-sphere. Interesting argument. I disagree.

I am not detaching myself from my thoughts. I am engaging myself in them. I am becoming my self or orchestrating the symphony it wishes to produce. No?

By exposing my self, I am protecting it. (I suppose this is the argument many a photographer has used on the beautiful model he or she wishes to denude.) Or is my eldest teen correct? By splaying my self to the public am I diluting (or even deluding) my self?

I am going to hoard my privacy from the beings that most wish to strip it of me: my own offspring. It is for their benefit. Independence. And, for mine. The teet run dries, so to speak.

I am going to protect the self by eructing it, violently and piecemeal, with surety and vulnerability…like the way I caught my eldest in the camera lens as the storm erupted: upright but hidden behind the boughs and soaked to the bone. She is leaving. I am coming.

I will speak. (They will not find me.)