Family, Fantasy, and Fiction
I got a call from my Mom an hour ago - she and my 79-year-old Gramma had just taken their last ride on "The Kracken" - the wickedest rollercoaster in Sea World, which they'd been riding most of the afternoon. They're in Florida for a week, and so far, are behaving like 8 year olds and loving it.
After 18 months here in Minnetonka, I still feel like the country mouse. I feel like my puzzle piece is the right shape but the wrong color - everything looks like a great fit, but somehow, it's not really for me. (Ooh. That's a good line.)
So, I dream a lot. I dream of Australia, of Tasmania. I look at houses there and pieces of land with creeks cutting through Huon pine forests. I dream of the little towns I've passed on the freeway, little houses with a barn in the backyard off a dirt road. I dream of a tiny one-bedroom cabin on the lake with more books than square feet, and of sleeping without the sound of anything but Brandon's little snores. I spend hours doodling it, drawing it, dreaming it.
And for the first time since high school, I wrote a book. Indeed, it's nearly a novel. Over 40-something typed pages, which is a new record for me. After finally getting the entire idea out, from introduction to sappy conclusion, I feel a bit purged of all those dreamings of a house in Tassy, and the tiny cabin on the lake. They're great dreams, great things to think about on gloomy dark winter days. But I know will find an even better story in reality, an even better world for me, in the things that are just around the corner. I have hope.
Thank God for the sunshine this week, for the brightening of the days and the lifting of my spirits. It has been a tough winter, but this January thaw has done much for me, and my prayer now is that it will carry me through February, and into the spring.
It doesn't feel so far away. :)
After 18 months here in Minnetonka, I still feel like the country mouse. I feel like my puzzle piece is the right shape but the wrong color - everything looks like a great fit, but somehow, it's not really for me. (Ooh. That's a good line.)
So, I dream a lot. I dream of Australia, of Tasmania. I look at houses there and pieces of land with creeks cutting through Huon pine forests. I dream of the little towns I've passed on the freeway, little houses with a barn in the backyard off a dirt road. I dream of a tiny one-bedroom cabin on the lake with more books than square feet, and of sleeping without the sound of anything but Brandon's little snores. I spend hours doodling it, drawing it, dreaming it.
And for the first time since high school, I wrote a book. Indeed, it's nearly a novel. Over 40-something typed pages, which is a new record for me. After finally getting the entire idea out, from introduction to sappy conclusion, I feel a bit purged of all those dreamings of a house in Tassy, and the tiny cabin on the lake. They're great dreams, great things to think about on gloomy dark winter days. But I know will find an even better story in reality, an even better world for me, in the things that are just around the corner. I have hope.
Thank God for the sunshine this week, for the brightening of the days and the lifting of my spirits. It has been a tough winter, but this January thaw has done much for me, and my prayer now is that it will carry me through February, and into the spring.
It doesn't feel so far away. :)