First Blog thoughts

I had a chat with a 'new friend' recently. I was drawn to her actually.
She is a woman of color and shorter than I, dressed in brilliant clothes of a wonderful and different cut. There were layers. Style. She’s full-figured and warm and has a rich, musical laugh...but it was her eyes that I saw first, amber; deep; and unspeakably accepting. I couldn’t stop looking at her; so I walked on over. And just like that we began talking.
I met her again last Friday at school. Once more, we kind of spent the evening together although we had different interests in classes, so we attended our sessions separately. While waiting, our discussion grew deeper, wider, until it nestled in our souls. It got so 'real' ... [You ever have that happen? You just go deep and truthful with a person who’s somewhat of a stranger?  I mean... lots of trust! It’s the partial-anonymity of it, I suppose.]

The topic was personal, and I said, "You know, I don't think I was ever actually loved by a man in the way that I needed to be... " I said, "Of course I have had lots of love in my life...family, children, friends.... but that connection with a man, a husband, where you know that they "get you" and you, them; ...and there's a mutual amazement in the other person, of who they are, and who you are with them..." "Nope,” said I, “I have-not had that."

And so the conversation went. Not surprisingly, she disclosed the same lack of connection; there is a ‘settling’ that happens and disappointment. Neither of us was particularly sad at the moment, just two women sharing a sense of not-having-had... and a sense of what-should-have-been-had.

I thought later about the subtle detachments that are shared between people, any people; and that we owe it to each other to, well, sort of stop-look-and-listen to each other; and hear what it is we each want out of life, and then...  add to it if we can. 
That's relationship...to me.

Interestingly, I was listening to a song on a cd as I drove to work...Stevie Ray Vaughn again (I'm in a circling circle with his music) and whatever the words were, I found myself thinking that I missed Mary so damn much; and what a perfect match we were for each other. Utterly fantastic friends. Inseparable. Like two pieces of the same amazing something… Together, we became someone else. God, I’d love to be walking together with her again. Right then and there, her presence was so real to me, I began to soar.

I'm aware that I've often found a deeper camaraderie with women; a truer connection.
A wise man once said to me: "…there’s nothing wrong with your car, Wildflower, you've just been with the wrong men..." He was answering 'a great analogy' I had just made about "the me, that is me” being a snazzy car that my husband really wanted to have, but once he had it…he simply never engaged it...he never even turned the key; and one-by-one, we all got out.
So I’m all about believing my friend, haha, the wise, insightful man.

Okay, I've heard of blogging. a Blog. The internet.
I've read maybe 3 blogs in all, cruised thru a few more. And found I was not as enthusiastic with the concept, as-oh-so-many-others are. I thought maybe it’s just my fear pushing it away. Every one of my children has said at some point, "Mom, you should write a blog." In my mind I wanted to see it as a springboard for writing. But I also thought my right hand, a blank sheet of paper, and a quilled ink pot (read: word document on microsoft here) could be my springboard... but I had not yet sprung. And there are so many crazy corners of why that board remained unsprung. So I did not blog ...

The blogs I managed to tour seemed to be self-promoting scrapbooks, if you will, of pictures from anywhere… plus fashion; cooking, baking; and a lot of rambling. Some of it reflective and interesting. (and I thought well hell, I can ramble with the best of them.) But I considered, who in the world wants to hear every stray thought I have. Especially a stranger. Then I remembered my new friend and how (in a very short period of time) we went deep.

And so the gentle urging continued from a blue-eyed daughter…I gently declined. When she gently pushed, I would gently chuckle.
Then something changed.

I don't know if it was the book by Elif Shafak, The 40 Rules of Love, or any of the, what, 200 books, I’d read in the past few months, while I nourished my isolation from the springboard.  But without knowing, really, when… I was bitten by the smallest diminutive bug. The bug to write. I began to 'think' about writing. I took note, because there was a shift inside.

So here I am writing. I have a blog page.
I decided to be: Wildflower.
My own personal nod to:
my extreme love of nature
to beauty
to freedom
to the wind's caress
to standing in the sunshine
to growing, exquisitely
and in a heart-quickening sort of way,
to my good friend Tom Petty.

Now, I find I've begun typing a blog in my mind. Isn't that funny?  Just driving thru morning traffic, adding ideas and throwing out others :)
I thought, 'I've never composed typed words in my mind before.' I've had countless internal dialogues, but this was different.
I was a wild flower, laughing un-selfconsciously.

...i fell asleep thinking how patient my daughter was with me, setting all this up.
She knows me so well... bringing me along, waiting on my decisions, watching me ebb and flow. Laughing to engage me. Not minding my body language, even as I was camped-out in it.  Arms crossed, knees to my chest. Furrowed brow. And in the end -great scott almighty, we had a page! A place to begin. She brought my dragging feet to a starting line.
Inspiration to begin.
To begin what? well...a place to begin to write, to let things out, and let other things in. To unwind, and maybe, just maybe, on a few fine occasions, to lift and fly.

I’ve always wanted to work the craft, wonderful words, see if I have anything to say - and so what if I don't- it means something to me.
Love Love, Wildflower