January 25, 2018 – Thursday
“Language is wine upon the lips.” wise words from Virginia Woolf.
Whether written or spoken, I am all about language. It rolls off my tongue and out of my finger tips and I am never not enamored by the sound or rhythm of the spoken or written word … regardless of whether it’s Italian or French, Swahili or English. Language is not only wine, but life for me. Words are everything.
Today is Thursday… which means it’s WRITING DAY! This is a new “make time for” happening for me—a New Year’s resolution of sorts. And though my day is nearly done, I’m going to find/make the time to do what my soul craves… write.
I don’t know what about… I never know what I’m going to write about when I sit down to post a blog. It is one of those mystical things that I continually find remarkable. I can sit down with whatever thoughts are floating around in this head and an hour or so later I have created something. I’m not out to win any Pulitzers or get my name on a Wikipedia page… and even if what I write is not a post but an email to a friend, I find it totally amazing that there is nothing on my screen (or paper) and then there is. The brain’s power to transform my invisible, wildly scattered thoughts through the workings of my hands and fingers to actual readable words on paper or screen makes me giddy. It’s like participating in a magic show—every time!
Abracadabra! Words, thoughts, ideas, stories… whatever and wherever my mind wanders can be caught, for the moment, and recorded.
Virginia Woolf once said, “Nothing has really happened until it has been recorded.”
I tend to agree. If you look at our lives what do we record? Births, deaths, weddings, sales, accomplishments… recorded on film or tape, on plaques or trophies or written down in baby books, scrapbooks and ledgers as the years go along. Or, they are preserved in our journals or memories. Lost to all others but ourselves at some point in time. Only I recall the lazy pinecone walks with toddlers (collecting cones to be adorned with glitter and beads or peanut butter and birdseed once home), lilac and peach sunsets over the mountains, watching the rolling clouds of rainstorms from the front porch, the advancing of the height markers on the kitchen door jamb, the smell of snow before the first flake. These things and all that we remember had to have some significance, some reason for recording them (if only in our minds) or surely we’d forget them. Those moments that are etched were important for us to remember them… to record their happening.
Coincidentally, today marks the 136th anniversary date of the birth of English born Virginia Woolf… renowned modernist writer of the 20th century and pioneer in essays on women and power. And though she’s been gone 77 years (longer than she was alive)—her works all seem terribly relevant these days.
And yet, I’ve never read anything she’s written. The only thing that comes to mind when someone says, “Virginia Woolf.” is my wondering whether or not I should be afraid of her! And from the photos I’ve googled, maybe I should be a little bit… (she was a rather scary looking woman in some of her later photos)… reminding me of who we were to see in mirrors at pre-teen sleepovers! Mary Worth or Virginia Woolf … maybe one in the same!
And with that said, I looked in the mirror this morning and wondered aloud, “Who are you?” My hair is at last growing in (or out) and it’s now at the “in-between” stage of too long to be short and too short to be long… in other words, it’s now at the Royal Pain in the Ass stage!
And not only is it doing stupid things, but it has faded from its nearly aubergine to a mousy brown. (Note to self: time for a dye job!) But, I have hair! And that is so exciting! And even though it’s a pain in the ass (and yes it is!)… it’s wonderful! I now understand Samson!
From Hair to There… when I shaved my head nearly 13 months ago I was on a quest of knowledge, compassion, understanding and empathy. I’d talked to enough women who’d lost their hair to cancer’s ravages that when they told me they had a harder time losing their hair than losing a boob, I was astounded. I said that their hair would grow back, and since they weren’t a starfish, their breast would not! And yet – they would rather lose a part of their body than their hair—even if the loss of hair was temporary. And, after talking with these women and having them all tell me I didn’t understand, I came to the recollection that, NO! I really didn’t! Hence, the razor and Brylcreem!
I’m pretty sure everyone I knew thought the NW dreariness had done its job on me and that I was one marble away from losing it. And that’s not to say that the NW dreariness didn’t have some “push” about my decision to actually go through with it… but I have and always have had plenty of marbles.
In any case, here I am now… past all the undeserving “Pity Eyeballs” and nods of understanding, the extra scarves I learned how to tie onto my head and all the little caps that kept me warm (it was a chilly experience!), and months and months of looking like Curly from the Three Stooges (never a good thing—even for Curly) and with PITA hair.
But I’ll take it. It’s growing and it’s a journey and I didn’t have to go through cancer and all that to gain what I did… as I now have complete and total understanding about the power of hair (especially for a woman). I’ll write more about it some other time… but today, my time’s up as the skies have turned from gray to midnight blue and it’s time to feed the dogs. I’ve been lost in the lusciousness of words and writing and all that that entails while enjoying the bubbly joy of words magically appearing on my screen.
So, happy birthday, Virginia—thanks for the inspiration. I’ll try to keep the magic going.
Abracadabra!