Every person has the potential to find a community of like-minded people and to create a matrix of safety and encouragement for personal and collective growth and creativity. ~Candy Paull
I was twitching at the weekend, desperate to log on, but I realised it was the addiction, a compulsion to feel connected online, to work hard and keep reaching out. So I relaxed, breathed, drank lots of water and thought of you enjoying your weekend.
I log on for the ability to connect with you in words, to articulate and share, to create that holy triangle of reader, writer and what’s written, but the truth is – and this may sound strange – I already feel connected with you. I spent the weekend trusting.
It’s hard for me, because I’m new to blogging and I’m used to working hard, often obsessively hard if I’m passionate about what I’m doing, but I managed to let go and trust that you wouldn’t suddenly disappear if I spent the weekend with my family, just as I won’t disappear from your life if you take a health break or go off for a few weeks.
And that trust brought blessings. I logged on today after draping a table napkin over my email counter. Don’t laugh – it works! I have no idea how many emails I’ve had since I logged off on Friday. I’d recommend it. My priorities were: check if there are any comments or views, write a post, respond to comments, stroll around the blog route then give email correspondence my complete attention.
And what comments! Like a breath of fresh air, there you were, silent supporters, chatting friends and new readers, all of you understanding that my absence simply means I’m sleeping in a different time zone or refuelling my soul so that I have something to share with you in our café.
To write well, we must live well, with presence, openess and a yearning to go on soul safaris, excavating our authentic selves so we have something real to share. If we genuinely believe in the power of letting go, really letting go and allowing the universe to fill us up to overflowing with inspiration, we have to trust.
Tidied all my papers. Tore up and ruthlessly destroyed much. This is always such a great satisfaction. ~ Katherine Mansfield
- On the 4th of July, I honoured my US friends by reading a Nora Roberts novel set in Maryland during the first week of July, and by cooking burgers; I cheated and had a veggy burger.
- At the weekend, we had complete freedom to do as we wanted, every member of the family. I used our cheap long distance phone option to phone my son’s godmother in Greece and chatted for 45 minutes; it felt like we were on her wooden front porch, a few metres from the sea, drinking strong, grainy Greek coffee from tiny little cups. We covered everything from kids to computing.
- Afterwards, I chose to clean windows and let the sun stream through, then shredded old documents. (I get shameful amounts of pleasure when I declutter and shred; I feel like I’ve shed pounds!) My husband and son decided to follow suit and tackled a corner of the attic. They filled the car full of boxes of books, games, toys and household items to be given to charity shops or the library. The next day, they did a car boot sale with the rest and made nearly $100.
- My daughter created her own accoustic renditions of half a dozen popular songs. Her version of a Coldplay song had me in proud tears. I decided to investigate how I can put music clips, mine and hers, on my blog. A café needs music.
- The kids watched Forrest Gump and cried at the end. I have good kids.
Rain is grace; rain is the sky condescending to the Earth; without rain there would be no life. ~ John Updike
It’s raining today and we’re in the middle of a storm. If you’re in the mood for a longer read, here’s a refreshing piece about another rainy day at home. Although I wrote it for my column a few years ago, re-reading it transported me back into the moment. (If you’ve downloaded my free ebook, it’s already in there.) When the Heavens Open
It got me thinking about what gifts I’d send you today from Scotland, if I could. I’d send you some rain – only where and when you wanted it, at night time maybe, to water your plants! I’d send you the lush, damp greenery and oxygen-filled fresh air it blesses my homeland with, and the drinking water, so fresh and crystal clear, we can drink the same stuff straight from the tap that is sold as bottled mineral water.
The greatest gift we can give one another is rapt attention to one another’s existence. ~ Sue Atchley Ebaugh
You already bestow a gift every time you read someone’s writing with rapt attention or share a precious piece of yourself whenever you leave a comment somewhere.
…but if you had super powers (and here’s the cool thing – you’re a writer; you already have superpowers!) which gifts could you share from your home town, to make us staycationers feel like we’ve had a glimpse of the elemental beauty of the village, town or city you live in ?