It's time to start catching up with these posts. I haven't blogged them in eighteen days. Never mind. That's because I've been busy on many days, struggling on some. And I've been writing - even if most of that writing is blog posts for Blob Thing it's still writing. The writing feels good. I want more. More. MORE!
It should be obvious by the end of this post. Normally I'd include five days of gratitude but here there are only three because I got quite carried away with enthusiastic words after going to that cafe mentioned in the title. I think allowing myself to indulge in it will be very good for me indeed.
But to begin. This is the internet so I feel I should begin where the internet usually dwells. Here's a picture of a couple of adorable kittens.
Grateful to have visited Westgate Ark and to have spent a couple of hours stroking kittens.
This may or may not become a semi-regular thing.
Grateful to have dragged myself out for another walk. This time it was one I could enjoy for the sake of the walk in contrast to Sunday when I was walking out some of the crud in my head.
So this time there were many photos, adventures for Blob, and time to appreciate things.
Between Sunderland and Fatfield there is much to enjoy.
I also diverted from the river up to Penshaw Monument and for a while was alone there.
Grateful for having the spoons to try new things this week. After kitten cuddling on Monday and going to new places yesterday, this morning I took the plunge and went along to The Writers' Cafe at Settle Down.
I've known about such things for quite a while. But hey, that's where writers go. Proper people who write things. Proper writers who know how to use words. And I'm not a writer.
Except I am.
I am a writer because I want to write. I am a writer because this year have been taking steps and time to write - even if much of it is devoted to a small pink blob! I am a writer because the urge is there inside and maybe this time it won't be stopped by self doubt, self loathing, or any of the excuses I've invented over the years. Honestly, I am a writer because I am writing. It's obvious but it was obscured in the haziness of doubt and a history of unwillingness to ascribe positives to myself.
I have small beginnings. Of course. But they are beginnings. And I am truly grateful for them. What existed only as a desire that I never believed would be conceived into being, let alone born as a helpless infant, now exists in both childlike and childish reality
They say rightly that from small seeds grow great trees. My tree may never be as mighty as a giant redwood. But if my tree grows to have anything like the ecstatically interesting shapes of those I saw yesterday I will be far more than satisfied.
If my branches can be unpredictable. If they form shapes not seen in a child's picture book that shows only the acceptable, idealised form of the tree.
If my wounds, like the splits and scars on the trees, are allowed to proudly add to the story rather than being deemed shameful.
And if my tree can provide refuge for another being, if it can give life, then I will be rewarded by that privilege.
I enjoyed the group. I have another little writing project to try to find the energy and make the time for. I met good people. I met again a member of this Sunday Assembly group. And I'll go back and experience it again.
I could wish that I had managed to go along sooner. I could wish that I had been brave enough to walk into that place and be a part of something unknown. I could wish that I had not spent so many years holding myself back from living in abundance.
I could wish the same about so many aspects of my life that have been finding their place and their freedom over the last few years. But everything must happen in its own time and in our own state of readiness for them.
Maybe, as a writer, writing foremost for my own sensual joy of the words, of the thoughts, of the images, and of the story, it is my time of readiness to become what I often dreamed but could never dare.
This photo was taken in the middle of September when I was wandering around Broadacre House after a mindfulness group.
A haiku on a window.
It just happens to be by Marie, who leads the Writers' Cafe group.
Oops. The above is over 500 words. Whatever happened to being brief?! This is enough for another instant, accidentally free written on Facebook blog post. Yay! It may be obvious that I'm a little enthusiastic tonight. That is probably a very good thing.