Today I am celebrating myself.
And 10,000 hits on my blog.
For those of you who are not writers,
it may be difficult to understand
how uplifting and liberating that is.
And it is not the fact that people came here
to read what I had to say that is so amazing,
but- it is the fact that I said something.
-that I sat here almost everyday
and cranked out my heart-
and let it bleed-
without worrying if it spilled out
onto other peoples lives.
I realize that my readers
may not have always liked what I wrote.
How many of us buy a new paperback,
only to abandon it on the nightstand forever?
There are no guarantees-
no prizes-
for having rearranged words into daily stories.
I started this blog as a type of computerized journal.
A place where I could store my thoughts
for safekeeping.
How many spiral notebooks
and one-year diaries of mine
have been lost through the years!
My mother began to write her thoughts on paper
during the final years of her life.
Those six or eight pages are the most precious thing
she could have left me.
They were her.
They were pieces of her heart.
And every time I read them,
her heart beats again.
That is what I hope to accomplish.
My children and my loved ones
will never remember
all the things I said.
But they will always have
the things that I wrote.
Someday-
when I am gone from this earth-
I hope they delight in reading my blog.
I hope they laugh and cry
and realize that I was not just
a wife and a mother and grandmother-
but that I was a person
who enjoyed life.
My husband rarely reads my blog.
He's peeked at half a dozen-
(maybe).
Sometimes it hurts my feelings
that he doesn't seem to care
what I write.
But, I've come to realize
he cares more about the things I say out loud.
And that's okay.
To me, writing is like blowing my nose
during a nasty cold.
I just gotta get it all out-
and if I don't,
I just get sicker.
Writing helps me breathe.
I once worked at the local newspaper.
I moved up from being a secretary
in the classified ads-
to being a reporter with two weekly columns.
Never once did anyone there
ever tell me that I was doing a good job-
or that they enjoyed my writing-
or that I made them laugh-
or that what I said mattered.
I think that broke my spirit for awhile.
I think I needed reassuring-
support-
a sounding board for my thoughts.
So, I left there.
I quit writing for almost three years.
No journals.
Or diaries.
Maybe an occasional poem
or a jotting of ideas.
But it was like being a prisoner in my own skin.
I swelled with heartache and with joy-
and I began to realize that the only relief valve
was my through my fingertips on the keyboard
or around a pencil.
So-
it does matter that you come here.
That you comment.
That you inspire and encourage me
on this literary journey-
my written legacy.
To help me leave my alphabetic footprints.
I am flattered and grateful.
Thank you.
For helping me face the music every single day.
And to always feel like singing.
