March 13, 2006

Monday Musings

The oddest things occasionally drift past as flotsam and snag on a twig of memory in my brain.

I was retrieving something from a friend's house the other day, and his children tend to act like all adults are visiting celebrities, and youngest son was climbing my leg and asking, "Did you ever hear of a fish called Seaweed?" as if it was a children's book that I had somehow missed. He made up the story, right then, to tell me all about it, three confident years old, and full of himself, happy to interrupt his father speaking to me, and to generally disrupt all adult conversation entirely, but I was captivated, because suddenly, his scrunched up little face reminded me...

...when I was nine, his father called me Seaweed. As suddenly as I remembered that, I suddenly 'remembered' a whole story to tell. "You started this," I accused the child's father, but he had no idea what I meant.

Actually, lots of things started 'this.' Enforced silence, internalized rejections, working things out, seeking greater expression. Someone asked me the other day when I "knew" it was my life's destiny to write. Oh, yeah, because this person is somewhat freakocious (thanks, a.fortis, for the encouragement of more imaginary words in the world), my first thought was to just do some sighing and eye rolling (life's destiny!? Come on!), but now I, too, want to know when I first knew I wanted to do this. As early as I can recall, it was about four ... when my mother would tell me to shush now, her ears needed a break. She would hand me a piece of paper and a pencil,and tell me to write everything I needed to tell her for now.

And so I still am.
I am writing everything I need to tell her, not that she'll understand if/when she reads it.
I am writing everything I need to tell her about myself. It is in puzzles and mysteries; others will 'get it' before she does, but I am writing everything I need to tell her, tell you, tell the universe; sky-writing, Pony Express, signal flares, crop circles; the messages keeps coming.

I only hope that I get through.

3 comments:

Seren said...

I like to think of it not so much as my life's destiny as my life sentence.

How synchronous of us -- I too have figured out I write to a large extent in order to make my mother listen to me. I'll let you (and my therapist) know when it starts working.

a. fortis said...

Writing because you want someone (or everyone) else to listen...for some reason I never thought of it that way, but it rings so true. For me I don't think it's my parents, though, so much as a general "hey, listen to ME for a change!"

TadMack said...

Wasn't it one of those Victor weird-o writing assignments to write to yourself and find some way to answer yourself? But it's not me I'm talking to... and I never really realized that either, except I really was (for some stupid reason) trying to give serious thought to that "life destiny" question.

Life sentence. I really like that.