All the dogs but one are nothing but a pile of blankets this morning. Dante is stretched out on the floor at my feet. Yesterday was a writing and reading day. I watched one episode of Inspector Lewis and some Ralphie May with Chris. The rest of the time I was either reading or writing. I’m pretty proud of that. Today… today I’m not sure what I’ll accomplish. I need to watch videos for my classes, practice guitar and make puppy treats. Those were on my list yesterday but got bumped to today.
I find myself feeling rather empty. It seems to just keep getting colder out. The snow never seems to go away (and stay away). It has been a few days since we’ve had any sunshine. No work on the garage since before Christmas. It is hard to stay positive some times.
I turn more and more to books to try to escape. I play with the kids. I clean the house (or atleast keep chores caught up). I stare into space.
I miss the sound of the ocean. I miss the sun. I miss being warm. I miss being outside. All we seem to want to do is sleep. Wake us when Spring gets here!
I’m trying to find myself. Some days I do. Some days I’m pretty sure the crazy person should just be locked up. It’s a lot like walking along the beach looking for shells. Some are broken, some are whole, some have beautiful colors, some are dull from being rubbed continually with the sand, some are simple shapes, some are complex swirls and whorls built on one another, some are new, some are old. Rather reminds me of the small book Mom got me years ago by Anne Marrow Lindbergh Gift From the Sea. Which in turn reminds me of Joan Anderson’s A Year By the Sea. I may pull both these out and reread them. It has been quite a while since I read either one, even though they hold a place of love in the bookcase beside the bed.
Maybe yesterday was the beginning of inner exploration. Maybe that is what this week is meant to be. I will look along my beach then. I will look for my shells, past and present, broken and whole. Maybe I can hear the sea.